


The Dispatch Inquiry

by April in Paris (April_in_Paris)



Category: Shamy - Fandom, The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: F/M, House Party, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 88,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27577868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_in_Paris/pseuds/April%20in%20Paris
Summary: Britain, 1935. Reporter Amy Farrah Fowler is dispatched to cover a gathering of scientists at the manor house of the eccentric Lord Sheldon Cooper. But disagreements cause tensions to rise at the estate. When one of the scientists is found murdered, can Amy trust her little grey cells to crack the case? Can she trust her heart to remain objective when it comes to the suspicious Lord Cooper?An ode to Dame Agatha Christie.
Relationships: Sheldon Cooper/Amy Farrah Fowler, shamy - Relationship
Comments: 24
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

If something caused so much dismay that a hot cup of strong and sweet Earl Grey couldn't help, then the world was in serious trouble.

But, as the dins and shouts and rat-tat-tat of the typewriters in the newsroom faded around her, Amy thought just that, pushing her morning cup away as she continued to read the front-page article. Last night, on the wireless, she'd heard the first reports and rumors; even now, the paper had gone to press too early to know the whole story. But it was stomach curling nonetheless: Adolf Hitler, Chancellor of Germany, continuing to consolidate power and killing anyone who stood in his way to dictatorship. What did this mean? Nothing good, her instincts told her. Although, she often felt she was in the minority with her fears.

"Fowler!"

She jolted at the shout and twisted toward it.

"Get a move in here when I send for you, sweetheart!" It sounded like a term of endearment, but it was not.

How long had Mr. Clayton been standing in his office doorway calling for her? She jumped up and skittered toward him, forgetting to set down the newspaper in her hurry.

"Mr. Clayton, I was just reading -"

"Shut the door. Sit down."

Gulping, Amy complied. Mr. Clayton had been editor-in-chief for years, known by name and reputation throughout London. He was so quintessentially British he even resembled a bulldog, with drooping eyes and heavy jowls. And he very rarely deigned to speak to the junior lifestyle reporter who also happened to write the daily crosswords.

"I've got an assignment for you."

"Oh? I mean, yes, sir." Mr. Clayton had never once given her an assignment. Instead, she received her orders from Mr. Bishop, the lifestyle editor. Even those were rare; Amy went to all the public Royal Society meetings because she enjoyed them and was a scientist by education and probably would have gone anyway. Writing them up for the newspaper was just a way to make money. Of course, her carefully crafted scientific treatises on the subjects discussed were slashed into a paragraph containing only who spoke, what the topic was, and who attended, all of which was buried deep in the back folds of the daily.

She knew the only thing saving her from being forced to write about what the attendees were wearing or - she shuddered at the thought - being asked to cover a gala was the success of her crossword puzzles.

"You're the science gal, right? Blimey, what an oxymoron."

"Yes." Amy willed her jaw to relax.

"I'm dispatching you to Medford Hall for the weekend. There's some sort of international science shindig going on. Write it up."

"Medford Hall?" It sounded familiar but Amy couldn't place it. It was not as though she'd grown up in or ever been a part of the class of persons that went to houses with the word Hall in their names. Or houses with names in general.

"Lord Cooper's crumbling pile. Some village outside of Cambridge." Mr. Clayton picked up a cigar from his ashtray and starting munching on the end. He always did this, just chewed on them instead of smoking them, like a dog with a bone.

"Lord Cooper!"

"Blimey, are you just going to repeat everything?"

Amy snapped back in her chair and shut her hanging mouth. She had heard and, this time, it was a name she did recognize. This exclamation was one of awe. And surprise. Lord Sheldon Cooper was the wealthy scion of one of Britain's most historical families but also a recluse who shunned society. Said to be an eccentric scientific genius . . . or just raving mad.

"You know what to write: great minds, international cooperation, world peace, red-letter day for Britain, the general rubbish."

Amy looked down at the near-forgotten newspaper in her hands. How long could world peace last with a megalomaniac on the continent?

"May I ask, what are the topics to be covered during the conference? So I can prepare." This was the biggest assignment of her career and she blazed with excitement. Finally, she was being rewarded for her knowledge and hard work. An international scientific conference! An opportunity to trade ideas and theories with her own ilk! But she needed to study so that she could stand on equal footing.

"Hell if I know. Hell if you will, either. The meeting themselves are closed door. You won't be in them."

Amy's heart plummeted.

"That's not the exciting bit, though." She glanced back up, allowing a flicker of hope to re-ignite. "Penny is going to be there and you're going to interview her."

"Penny?"

"Bird-brain, these women," Mr. Clayton muttered but not so quietly she couldn't hear. "Penny, the actress and singer. Coming all the way from Hollywood to sing."

A face came to mind. Too blonde and beautiful and famous to be missed, even to Amy who preferred to read rather than go to cinema. "Why is Ms. Penny -"

"Just Penny. One name. No surname."

"Oh." Amy wrinkled her brow. That was impossible. Everyone had a surname. "Why is just Penny singing for a group of scientists? I can't imagine she could even sing her way through the periodic table." Amy chuckled at herself; why would one ever sing the periodic table?

"I'll tell you, but you're not allowed to print it." Mr. Clayton sat back and smacked his lips with what sounded like satisfaction. He clearly enjoyed knowing this secret. "She's married. To a physicist. He's coming to the conference and she's coming with him."

At first, with all that obvious relish, Amy had thought he was going to tell her Penny was a spy. Or seeking asylum in England from some American travesty of justice, although Amy could not imagine that any travesty would ever befall someone that looked like that. Or some other actual top-secret classified reason. But marriage? To a physicist? Rather than be shocked, she was, for the first time, interested in the famous woman. "Why is the marriage a secret?"

"Journalists' code. We keep it out of the papers that Hollywood's most famous leading lady isn't available to the right man and we get interviews. If the public couldn't speculate about her love life, they might lose interest - in her pictures and our articles. There are some things the public doesn't want to know; it would ruin their happiness."

Amy briefly wondered if he was talking about the pacifist and isolationist groups, not a pointless actress. But that was not the type of conversation for which she'd been asked. The only thing known to be shorter than Mr. Clayton's attention span was his temper.

"So, just to clarify, you want me to go to an international science conference but not write about actual science? And you want me to interview the famous Penny but not write about her actual marriage?" Suddenly something occurred to her. "Or print her last name because it's her husband's?"

"By Jove, she's got it! And to think some men think you women can't be taught."

Amy gritted her teeth for the hundredth time since she'd entered his office and stood. "I understand. When do I leave?"

"Friday." He tossed an envelope across his desk. "Lord Cooper paid for your train ticket. His chauffeur will be at the station. Details are inside."

She took the envelope, first surprised at its existence and then at its heft. The flap was sealed, a crest pressed into red wax. Normally the newspaper reimbursed her after the fact for any expenses after scrutinizing them to pay her as little as they could possibly get away with. "Thank you," she said, although she realized she had very little for which to thank Mr. Clayton.

"And don't forget to turn in your puzzles before you go."

"Of course." Fortunately she always worked a few days ahead, but she would still need to create more.

Just as she was reaching for the doorknob, Mr. Clayton called to her again, "Oh, and Fowler, take the afternoon, get yourself a decent dress or two. Don't go dressed like someone's granny. It's disgraceful. Makes 'em think I can't get any pretty girls in here."

Her cheeks flared with heat. What was wrong with a warm cardigan to ward against an English rain and a sturdy pair of shoes when one had to run from one Underground platform to another? And what did it matter what she wore, anyway, as long as she did her job satisfactorily? Wasn't she worth the value of her mind, not her clothing?

But, never having heard of a woman saying such things to a man and certainly not to a man who kept her from the poorhouse, Amy just said, "Yes, sir."

* * *

Medford Hall was visible from a curve in the long drive even before the elegant black car pulled into the yard. It stood, gray and proud and imposing upon a soft hill, and Amy pressed her face closer to the glass to get a better view. There was a squat portico over the first story, covering stone steps up to the front door. The frieze above was also flat and it was carved but she could not tell with what. It didn't look crumbling at all, at least from here.

Squinting behind her glasses to sharpen her focus, she studied the low-slung open-top roadster parked in front. Not what she would have expected for a scientist. But then she saw what looked like a man in front of it, wearing a colorful jumper vest, and he seemed to be having a close tête-à-tête with a man dressed more somberly in black. Just as she angled her head to peer closer, the car turned and a row of hedges blocked her view.

Two more graceful turns and the large house suddenly seemed to fill all available sky. She looked over at the sports car, just as the man in black stepped away from the man in the jumper. The gravel crunched beneath the wheels and the car came to a stop. Before the chauffeur could come around to her, the man in the jumper ran over and opened her door with a wide smile.

His hair cascaded over his forehead in shiny black curls and his teeth were incredibly white and broad against his brown skin. His collar was open but filled with an extravagantly tied cravat. "Welcome! Welcome to Medford Hall!" he said as he took her hand and gallantly, if unnecessarily, assisted her from the vehicle.

"Hello. Mr. . . .?" Not Lord Cooper. Although the Earl was never photographed, she knew he was not Indian.

This man laughed, thrusting his hands casually into the pockets of his pleated trousers. "Dr. Rajesh Koothrappali at your service. Professor of Archaeoastronomy at Cambridge. And your specialty?"

"Biology," Amy answered without thinking, too surprised by this strange, cheerful man greeting her as though he owned the house, as though they were already friends. She extended her gloved hand. "Amy Farrah Fowler."

Instead, he turned her palm and bent down to kiss the back of her glove. "Ah, I'm ashamed to say I'm not familiar with your work, Dr. Fowler. Are you at Oxford?"

"Oh, no." Amy blushed and pulled her hand away. "I'm not a doctor. I'm a journalist - a science reporter. Although I did take a first in biology at Oxford." She hated being flustered. She hated for anyone to think she was misrepresenting herself. Mostly she hated that she couldn't be Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler. Not yet and probably not ever.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that. There must be something special about your work if Dr. Cooper invited you. Here, let Stu - Mr. Bloom bring your luggage in. We're the last to arrive."

"Mr. Bloom?"

"Mr. Stuart Bloom. The butler, Miss." The man in black was already holding her valise, and he stepped forward with a bow as he introduced himself. He was thin and pasty and something about his face seemed sad. Amy wondered if he were ill. "I'll show you to your room and have one of the maids bring up some tea and draw you a bath before dinner if you like."

"Thank you. That sounds lovely."

* * *

Amy couldn't remember the last time she'd had a truly hot bath. Or when she'd had enough time to enjoy it. At her tiny bedsit, the bathroom was down the hall. Its taps poured out tepid water and she was only permitted to fill it to the black line painted inside the tub. There was always someone banging on the door before she was finished. Here, though, in a corner suite so large it seemed three of her rooms back in London would have fit inside, the maid had filled the white marble bathtub with steaming water and rose-scented bubbles. She'd even asked if Amy would like assistance getting undressed. Amy had demurred and only asked her to bring up some hot tea.

She hated to leave the bath, but the water was getting cool and her fingers had turned to prunes. And she feared the tea was chilled now, too. So she stood and released the stopper. The maid had sat a white dressing gown on the bench for her, and she wrapped herself in it. It was thicker and more plush than anything she'd ever worn against her skin.

It wasn't just tea in front of the fireplace; it was an entire meal. The trolley was filled with all sorts of pots and plates: sandwiches and scones and biscuits and sugar and cream and jams. She made a cup, surprisingly still hot beneath its cozy, and studied the room around her as she nibbled. Drinks were in the drawing room in just an hour and dinner after that, so she didn't want to overeat.

No, Medford Hall wasn't a crumbling pile at all. At least not what she'd seen in her walk through the grand entrance hall with its black and white checkered tiles, up the broad carpeted stairs with two landings, and through a wood-paneled gallery lined with old portraits on the way to her room with a radiator warming it. Everything seemed airtight and in good repair.

The room was opulent but tasteful. Not too many ruffles and frills and things men liked to imagine all women loved. Amy got up and circled the room, studying the heavy but clean-lined furniture. She inspected the desk she had noticed earlier, placed in front of the larger window, this one facing the side of the house with a sweeping view of the beautifully kept grounds, trees and bushes glowing in the oranges and yellows of autumn. A shiny black typewriter was there, next to a stack of clean white paper, ready for her use. It was unexpected and touching to be provided such a beautiful place to work. The typewriter itself was stunning, sleek and modern, nothing like the battered secondhand one she kept in her bedsit, with the W key that always stuck. She pressed a key and smiled at the snappy retort that came in reply.

Amy moved on, running her hand along the soft bedding and opening the wardrobe. Her valise had been emptied to fill the cabinet and it looked tattered resting in the bottom. At least her new dresses looked decent enough hanging there. Wait, where was . . .?

Her heart thumped and she went to the bureau first, where her underthings laid neatly folded, and then to the dressing table. She saw the cream envelope and breathed out softly. Opening it, the red wax seal still attached to the flap, she counted the money inside. It was still there. How silly she was, to imagine the maid or the butler or anyone else in this house would steal it.

But she had never seen so much money in one place before. Lord Cooper had been beyond generous. It wasn't just train fare; the brief and impersonal letter, signed by him, had said it was payment for her services. Included with the note, and the cause for the heft of the envelope, was a typed document of several pages that read as though it were a contract between a "Host" and a "Houseguest." Amy was half expecting to be asked to sign it at some point. Was this strange, business-like document sent to everyone or only her, as a journalist? However, it never specifically addressed journalism. Instead, it was filled with minutiae such as meal times and the practices that were acceptable and unacceptable within public rooms. It was this document that informed her dinners would be formal, which meant she had no choice but to buy a few new things. Frugal by necessity and practice, Amy managed to spend only a small portion of the money on the new-to-her clothing.

Sitting down on the dressing table stool, Amy smoothed down the flap of the envelope. The money made her uneasy and emphasized her questions. If the meeting here was so secret, then why invite a journalist to write about it? If Penny's marriage was taboo to the press, then why invite a journalist to interview her? The very existence of the letter meant she had been invited by Lord Cooper himself, not just assigned a story by Mr. Clayton. To what end?

And, more specifically, why her? She was a nobody, just a junior journalist and cruciverbalist. She may have had dreams of becoming a biologist and studying the brain, but it was only a dream. As proud as she was of her first at Oxford, there were plenty of others with firsts. And hers would not have existed without a scholarship.

And why was Lord Cooper paying her himself, when she received a salary from the newspaper? She'd never met him; very few people had. She knew his reputation as a physicist, one of the greatest, if strangest, minds of the age. But, after university, it was said he'd rarely left this estate. But she assumed she would meet him this weekend. Clearly, Rajesh already had; he'd even called him Dr. Cooper.

She planned to return the rest of the money to Lord Cooper as soon as possible with her sincere appreciation. It wasn't that she couldn't use the money; it's that she didn't want to be beholden to him for anything. It may all be innocent, but she didn't want it to appear that she could be bribed into betraying her integrity. Even if it would all get cut, she intended to write objective articles about this conference, one that uncovered any truths she discovered.

Which meant she had to remain objective about Lord Cooper.

* * *

The drawing room was already festive when she arrived, bright jazz music spilling out of a gramophone in the corner, and Stuart was stationed by the door making cocktails. The room was very large, with several seating areas, a couple of square card tables, and a grand piano. Amy knew she was on time, so the others must be early. Was that expected? Or were they just over-eager to mingle on this first night together? She'd never been to a party before, she had no idea.

"Martini, Miss Fowler?" Stuart asked as she entered, holding out a glass to her.

She took the drink but puckered her face after a sip. It was strong and she was unaccustomed to the taste of alcohol. She carried the glass as she circled the edge of the room, her eyes darting from stranger to stranger, unsure of what to do. For some reason, she had expected more people. Three men were conversing in the corner but none of them struck her as Lord Cooper, although she couldn't say why. In the center of the room was another cluster of three, although one of whom she had met.

"Miss Fowler! Over here!" Rajesh called from the center of the group, waving her over, his smile as broad as it had been earlier. He was wearing a tuxedo, as expected, but his throat was still garnished with a colorful cravat. He was standing between two ladies, both of them blonde although the difference in their heights was striking. But neither of them was the famous Penny.

"Dr. Koothrappali, how nice to see you again."

"May I introduce Dr. Bernadette Rostenkowski, a biochemist from Berlin, and Dr. Ramona Nowitzki, a physicist from Oxford. Ladies, this is Miss Amy Farrah Fowler."

Amy shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. She hoped they couldn't tell she was nervous; not just because of the party in general but because she'd never been lucky enough to meet two highly successful female researchers.

"And where do you do your research?" Bernadette, the shorter one in glasses, asked. She wore a pretty pastel evening dress with a caplet that tied with large bow at the neck. Her English was impeccable, although her high-pitched voice seemed incongruent with her guttural German accent. "What is your area of expertise?"

"Oh, I'm a journalist. I cover the science beat for the _Herald_. In London." She tried to sound proud, as though she had as much right to be here as these women.

"So, _not_ a scientist?" Ramona asked, unnecessarily Amy thought.

"Well, I took a first in biology at Oxford." Amy studied the taller woman with a slightly upturned nose. Her dress was black and severe.

"If I had a pound for every first I've taken . . ." Ramona murmured.

"Will you also interview Penny?" Bernadette asked before Amy could formulate her rebuttal.

"Yes. Quite an odd mix of assignments." Amy scanned the room. "I take it she's not down yet?"

"She probably wants to make an entrance, so we'll all stare at her," Ramona replied.

"And which of you beautiful ladies wouldn't do the same?" Rajesh said, and it sounded too much like a coo for it not to be obvious he was trying to make up for Ramona's slights.

Fortunately, at that moment, there seemed to be a ripple in the air, as all eyes indeed turned toward the beautiful woman that entered, her arm woven through the elbow of a shorter, bespectacled man. Everything about her seemed to shimmer, from the way her golden locks fell in perfect Marcel waves over her shoulders to the matching golden bias-cut dress that clung to her every curve and showed a large swatch of bosom. When she turned, her dress revealed even more skin, the back almost bare to her waist. Amy knew she'd always orchestrate a way to make an entrance if she looked like that. It was as if someone had thrown dynamite into the room.

Penny circled the room like royalty, which Amy supposed she was of a sort, speaking to everyone in turn and anointing each of them with a kiss upon their cheek. When Amy's turn came, she couldn't help but take a deep breath of the actress' scent, powdery soft.

"You're going to interview me!" Penny exclaimed as if it were a marvel.

"Yes." Amy smiled, relieved she already knew and Amy didn't have to try to arrange the interview herself.

"Well, it will be great fun, I'm sure. We'll drink some wine and chat, just us girls." She leaned in closer and another waft of her perfume tickled Amy's nose. "We'll tell secrets. A girls' night. Shhh."

Tell secrets? Most assuredly they would not. Was she already drunk? Or just naturally so vivacious and chummy?

After Penny had moved on to the three gentlemen Amy hadn't yet met, her husband extended a hand. "I'm Dr. Leonard Hofstadter, from Caltech. Call me Leonard."

"Hofstadter! Sorry, I mean, nice to meet you."

"It's okay. Penny has that effect on people. She's just so beautiful, isn't she? I've been under her spell since I first saw her." Leonard smiled a cheesy grin that made his glasses lift on his cheeks.

Amy couldn't help but smile back. "She's lovely."

What a different group this was than she expected, so casual and free. Everyone was welcoming and generous with their smiles. Well, everyone except Ramona. But that was just a bad first impression, she told herself.

Leonard still stood in front of her, as Penny took her time conversing with the three men who had moved closer. Amy sought for something to say. "How do you know our host?"

"I studied abroad here; he was my roommate at Oxford."

Hoping he would reveal more about Lord Cooper, Amy said, "You went to school together?"

"Not really. He was reading for his second doctorate and I was an undergrad. He's a child prodigy, you know, went to university early. But, yeah, it was happenstance. I needed a place to stay when my original housing fell through, he had an ad, I was desperate, and the rest is history."

"So you must know quite a bit about him?"

"Oh, boy, do I. Your hair would curl. It's what happened to mine."

Yes, the eccentricities that were rumored and hinted about but no one could define. Like Howard Hughes. Amy couldn't tell if Leonard missed or regretted their time as roommates.

Moving on, Leonard greeted one of the men who had now seemed to join them in one large group. This shift in bodies put Amy directly across from a man with graying temples and a sour expression. Instead of a slender stemmed martini glass, he carried a heavy tumbler of what appeared to be Scotch. His brown suit - not an evening suit - was rumpled and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, behind the knot of his tie. He did not follow the dress code listed in that Houseguest document and this made Amy especially curious about him. While certainly an error in judgment on his part, was it on purpose as a slight to Lord Cooper or the honest mistake of a downtrodden man?

"Amy Farrah Fowler, journalist," she said, extending her hand. She thought it best to lead with her role here to avoid further confusion.

Ignoring her hand, the man took a large swig from his glass. "Kripke, Barry Kripke. Detective Inspector Kripke."

How rude. But Amy was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, as his speech revealed that he suffered from rhotacism and life could not have been easy for him. And maybe he could prove to be useful for her article. "Oh. A detective? How interesting. Are you here to provide security for the conference?"

"Honestly, I don't give a rot about these scientists. But Cooper asked me to stay this weekend and monitor the security of the house. For her, for Penny." He shrugged. "He serves fine liquor and she's easy on the eyes, so why not?"

"Do you really think she's in danger?" This wasn't what Amy expected for her article, but Penny-in-peril would probably be a highly received story.

"Nah. Not from any of these ninnies. But I'll go around before bed every night, make sure all the windows are shut and the doors are locked, maybe frighten a couple of the maids against stealing, eat and drink my fill, collect my paycheck and be off."

"I see." What she didn't say was all she saw was that he was an opportunist.

Fortunately, she was rescued by Stuart ushering them across the hall for dinner. But once in the doorway to the dining room, Amy almost stumbled. Her entire body was caught by an almost magnetic force, pulling her further into the room. It's source was there, standing at the head of the table, waiting for them: the most striking man Amy had ever seen.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**A note on names and word choice:** _

_**People were more formal in the 1930s, especially among this class and location. Titles and surnames would be the norm except for close personal relationships. Even for senior servants - it is unlikely we'd ever even know Mr. Bloom's first name. However, in The Big Bang Theory almost everyone goes by their first name. I have decided on a compromise here: Surnames are used until a character's first name is introduced, at which point Amy will start to think of that person by their first name. But surnames will be maintained in dialogue just as they would have been in the 1930s.** _

**_As Amy is British in this story, I have used British words instead of American words for several things. I have not, however, been a slave to the historical accuracy of those terms so I am sure there are some errors. Some characters are American and may use the American term in dialogue (or German, French, etc.)._ **

**_Oh, and 'The Elements' (the periodic table song) wasn't written until 1959 by Tom Lehrer._ **

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing made one realize one's place in the hierarchy of society like an English nobleman's dinner table.

Amy was seated the absolute farthest from Lord Cooper, across from one of the men she had not yet met and next to another. Even Inspector Kripke, in his casual dress and deep into his drink, ranked higher than her.

But none of those men could tear her eyes away from Lord Cooper at the opposite end of the table. He was classically handsome, with dark neat hair, a high forehead, and bright blue eyes. He had a habit of licking his lips, which drew attention to them; while thin, they were pink and oddly beckoning. Amy found herself stealing glances as often as she could, just to watch his serious face or the precise way he ate. She noticed he didn't drink any wine. Or talk much. Instead, he seemed to study everyone around him, and Amy wondered what he was thinking.

For most of the meal, she watched the other end of the table, with Penny sitting on Lord Cooper's right and Ramona on his left. It was easy to do without seeming conspicuous because everyone else was looking in the same direction, listening to Penny as she kept them rapt with tales of Hollywood. She had the most expressive face, her eyes widening and her red lips pouting and her generous laugh revealing a row of perfect teeth.

At first, Amy thought Penny's husband was stoic in contrast, and, although it could not be denied he was in her shadow, she quickly realized that Leonard's eyebrows were just as expressive as his wife's face. Mostly, though, he watched her work her magic on the little gathering with awe, he, too, caught up in her undeniable magnetism. He wasn't alone; Amy noticed all the men seemed enthralled by her gregarious charm - or maybe just her beauty. Even the candles seemed to burn brighter at that end of the table, the crystal sparkling more in reflection of her.

Everyone but Lord Cooper, Amy noticed. It wasn't that he seemed to dislike Penny. He, too, listened to the conversation and occasionally interjected, especially when Leonard said something. Rather, it was that he didn't seem to know what to do with her and her stories. Quite often, he looked startled, with an almost bird-like movement of his neck as he swung from one face to another to gauge the proper reaction. Probably because, Amy supposed, he could not imagine a world more different than his own, a person more different from him than the outgoing and breezy American woman with no relationship to science.

A few times, though, Lord Cooper's eyes locked on hers across the table, and Amy felt burned by their gaze. For those brief seconds, everything faded away, even Penny and her sparkling aura, even those candles and crystal. The entire room was reduced to the ribbon of blue crackling from his sharp eyes.

Worried she may be blushing, Amy tried to avert her eyes and settled on his hands, the way his long, slim fingers curled about his knife and his fork or the way he cradled his stemmed water glass in the cup of his hand, occasionally flicking the stem with his thumb. Then she knew she was blushing.

Determined to ignore the opposite end of the table, Amy decided to concentrate on her dinner companions. She had been rude, neglecting them for most of the meal.

The man across from her was large, a sort of bumbling figure with slow speech. Maybe that's because English wasn't his native language, although he spoke it beautifully. He had pale reddish hair that was beginning to bald, a matching beard, and dark, heavy glasses. His name was Monsieur Bertrand Kibbler - or Bert as he said he was often called - a geologist from the Sorbonne in Paris. Why, Amy wondered, did he rank even lower than a policeman at the dinner table? Regardless, he was kind if quiet.

"I wasn't aware there would be Earth scientists here," Amy said, trying to nudge him into conversation. And nudge herself out of staring. "I didn't know it was an interest of Lord Cooper's."

"It is not," Bert answered. "I have never met him before. Dr. Koothrappali secured my invitation."

"Oh?"

Slurping the sorbet that was pudding from his spoon, Bert replied, "He is an archeologist, so our paths have crossed. I was surprised to be invited. But pleased, of course."

"Dr. Koothrappali said he was an archaeoastronomer. Or was it archaeoastromist? I'm not familiar with that field," Amy admitted. "We only spoke briefly about his work."

"He studies how astronomy was used in Ancient Egypt, the way their temples were laid out to certain arrangements of the stars and how they worshipped the heavens. He gives the most fascinating lectures on tour; he created a magic lantern show about the night skies above the pyramids. He even traveled to Germany to assist Zeiss in the construction of something called a planetarium. He holds your attention. An excellent public speaker."

Amy glanced down at Rajesh laughing and smiling at the more popular end of the table. "He's quite the social butterfly, isn't he?"

Bert surprised her by leaning closer over the table. "It is because he was mute for the first twelve years of his life in India. Then he just started speaking full sentences and everyone realized he was quite intelligent."

"Really?" Amy thought maybe she should interview Rajesh as well, if he'd be willing. She could suggest it as a human interest piece, but it might give her a chance to slip in some science, too. And surely with interest in Egyptology so high in the past decade, it wouldn't be cut.

She turned the smaller man with a too-tight evening suit and unfortunate bowl-shaped hair beside her. Although they had not yet spoken, she had caught him murmuring short quips under his breath about the conversation wafting from the other end of the table. They were, she quickly gathered, not meant for her female ears. And yet they were both clever and funny.

"And what's your specialty, Doctor? I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting."

"Mister. Mr. Howard Wolowitz, University of Warsaw. I am an engineer with an interest in aeronautics."

"What a varied group this is," Amy said. "And how do you and Lord Cooper know one another?"

"He wrote me a letter of . . ." He paused and Amy wondered if he were searching for the English word. Then he shrugged. "He likes to argue the details."

"Of aeronautics?"

"Yes. In a way. I write fiction about imagined flight in outer space. Do you know it, Martians and rocket ships? Science fiction."

"I've heard of the genre." She had, but Amy preferred to spend her fiction reading time with Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers. Or with her carefully hidden French copy of _Lady Chatterley's Lover. "_ Speculative science adventures, as those by Jules Verne and H. G. Wells, correct?" Howard nodded. "So, what do you think Martians are like?"

"Green. Small. Pointy heads. The women have the largest -" he stopped.

Amy couldn't help but grin, although she quickly thrust her napkin up to hide it.

"Well, that is not enough to make him a noble person," Bernadette suddenly said, loud enough to cause both Amy and Howard to look over at her. Her voice was now deep and gravelly instead of the girly, high-pitched tone she had earlier in the drawing room. It emphasized her German accent.

"He cares about the economy and industry and the military, and that is more important to the German people than catering to the weak now," Ramona countered. "He is going to make Germany great again."

Amy glanced at Howard, who suddenly looked nervous; being Jewish had to make him uncomfortable when discussing Germany. Amy shifted in her chair, uncomfortable herself with this verbal altercation breaking out so early in an international gathering.

"By taking away everyone's liberties? By trodding on those of whom he disapproves? When was Germany ever great for everyone?" Bernadette shot back, rising slightly off her chair. "Germany was only ever great for the wealthy, Aryan men. What about everyone else?"

Ramona grinned but it sly and ugly. "Oh, would you say that if your father were at this table?"

Instead of answering, Bernadette's face went pale and slack, and she slumped back into her chair. Amy stared, intrigued that the mention of her father had such a profound effect upon her. The uncomfortable silence was broken by the loud sound of a metal hitting china, and Amy jumped along with almost everyone else at the table.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Howard murmured, his hands fluttering. "I dropped my spoon."

However, before anyone else could speak, Lord Cooper's voice boomed, "No more discussion of politics!" All eyes turned to him and he continued in a more controlled manner, "I am not interested in politics. I never discuss them. We are here to discuss science. To learn about science from one another. Science. All of us want to further the good of mankind via science. Science makes improvements that last forever. Science is paramount."

He took a deep breath and rose from his chair. With great majesty, Amy thought. "We will adjoin to the drawing room. There, Penny will entertain us with some songs, which I am told are quite popular."

* * *

Penny sang along to the music her husband arranged on the gramophone. It was, she admitted in a self-deprecating-yet-utterly-charming way, not the big band she was used to, but that Leonard didn't want to sail with his cello. Everyone tittered as though they understood the joke, but Amy tried to think if she'd ever seen a cello in a big band.

Somehow, Penny seemed even more beautiful and mesmerizing standing in front of the grand marble fireplace in the drawing room. The upbeat songs helped to wash away the tension at the end of the meal. The sofas and chairs had been arranged to face her by the servants during dinner, and everyone sat drinking a cocktail and smiling as they listened, one or two guests tapping their toes in time with the cheerful tunes.

Everyone but Lord Cooper and Amy. They both sat politely, of course, Lord Cooper even going to the surprising insistence that Kripke move from one sofa, calling it his spot. But neither of them took the cocktails Stuart passed around on his silver tray. Lord Cooper seemed to eschew all alcohol, and Amy thought she'd already had too much wine at dinner.

Also, the envelope of money crinkled against Amy's thigh from where she'd folded and stuffed it into her handbag earlier. None of the other ladies had brought a handbag to dinner, so she felt silly with the little beaded thing. She had bought it with her evening dress, a bright turquoise gown with a full skirt, purchased at a second-hand shop because she knew she'd never wear it again. She hadn't like how much skin was exposed in the shop, but fortunately it came with a matching jacket to cover the bare back. But, here, with the other ladies wearing more slinky, backless gowns she felt self-conscious in her out-of-fashion frock. But if Amy could just talk to Lord Cooper privately, she could give him back his cash and at least she wouldn't have to carry the handbag again.

After several songs, Lord Cooper got up silently and crept out of the room. Amy watched him go, recognizing this was her chance. She murmured an excuse and got up to follow.

Lord Cooper had not gone far, as she found him just outside in the hall, studying the shiny bar cart that was parked there. It was still quite easy to hear Penny's singing from the open door to the drawing room.

"Hello. I'm Amy Farrah Fowler," she said, approaching him quickly before she lost her nerve. However, as soon as she said it, she regretted it. What a stupid thing to say.

"Hello, Amy Farrah Fowler." He turned and looked at her calmly, not mentioning that he already knew that, that he had been the one to invite her.

Trying not to wither under his direct gaze, Amy clutched the handbag hanging off her shoulder tighter. "Lord Cooper -"

"Dr. Cooper, please. Or even Sheldon."

"Very well. Dr. Cooper, I'm sorry to inform you that you have been taken in by the notion of British hospitality, which I fear could make us both appear unprofessional. Additionally, I do not want anyone to think I am being blackmailed by excess cash." She thrust the now-crumpled envelope out to him.

"If that was a thank you for your payment, I'm unfamiliar with that tactic. If it was literal, I share your aversion to blackmail and bribery. In any case, I only paid you what a man of your caliper who both writes a science column and the daily crossword should be paid."

"Oh." Amy lowered her hand. Was it really so much? Surely not for three days' work.

"May I offer you a beverage?"

"Um." It was not the reply Amy expected. "Water, please."

As Sheldon started to pour into a glass from the pitcher, Amy watched his hands again. No, it still would not do. She had to find a way to give him back the excess money. And find a way to stop staring at his graceful body!

"Oh, Sheldon, there you are!" A voice behind her interrupted.

Just as she turned to look over her shoulder, Amy was suddenly caught up in the unexpected. Sheldon's lips - those pink, beguiling lips she'd watched across the table - landed on hers, stifling the surprise in the back of her throat.

It was nothing, the mere awkward press of his lips against hers, like a schoolboy's first kiss, but then his hands reached out and grabbed her hips, tugging her closer.

The kiss changed from tentative to urgent as Sheldon pulled her against him. Amy's hands went up at her sides, to push him away. Although she knew she was not attractive, she was still a young female in a man's profession which meant, more than once, someone had tried to manhandle her. It was not her usual heavy brown handbag but surely the beaded little number hanging from her elbow could be used to hit this assailant over the head just as she had done so many times in the past.

But she didn't.

Instead, she relaxed, a long exhale escaping her lips just as they parted to allow the entrance of Sheldon's tongue. She found herself stepping into the kiss, letting her hands rest on his broad shoulders as he leaned over her. Drinking deeply from him, she shivered when one palm rose along the satin of her evening gown and slid under the bolero jacket, stopping to rest on the bare skin of her back. This was nothing like the forceful, sloppy kisses she'd endured in the past. Even without words, somehow they communicated. Sheldon led when she paused, and then he hung back to let her advance. Each movement of their mouths was a powerful, passionate turn of give and take. They were fused together, every groove and bump of his body pressed against hers. Amy's skin burned from his palm, a ribbon of undulating fire from her back to her lips to the rapid beating of her heart.

Just as suddenly, he pulled back, staring down at her with a surprised look, as though he was not the one who had started it. He licked his lips, tasting them just as she had.

Amy whispered, too much air gone from her lungs to speak louder, "That was -" Forward? Non-consensual? Unexpected, at least? "-nice."

"Good." Still he didn't move, hovering above her, and his eyes darted to her lips. Amy wondered if he was going to kiss her again.

Then, as quickly as it had all started, he straightened and even ran his palm over his hair, smoothing it although not a strand was out of place. Amy hoped she still looked presentable although she felt like she'd crossed the English Channel in a rowboat in the middle of a storm.

"That woman is vile."

She blinked. Hard. "What?"

"Dr. Nowitzki. She was right there."

"Sh - she was what?"

Amy knew her mouth was hanging open, but she couldn't help it. After a kiss - that kiss! - he was talking about Ramona?

"I did not notice it at first, but Penny pointed out to me that Dr. Nowitzki seems to have a romantic interest in me. Or at least my estate and eighty thousand pounds a year. Or perhaps my future Nobel prize. She will not leave me alone."

"You - you were just trying to avoid Dr. Nowitzki?"

"Yes." He sighed. "I know, my plan was not fully formed. I prefer to be prepared. It was a rash mistake, a moment of error. Regardless, I think it may have worked."

Amy put a hand against her stomach, the flurry of emotions turning her meal sour.

"Are you ill?"

"No, I -" She put her hand down and hardened her jaw. "No, I'm just tired from the train journey and I'm going to retire early. Right now, in fact. Good evening, Lord Cooper." She would not give him the satisfaction of _Doctor_.

Turning sharply on her heel so as to avoid any more interaction, Amy walked with as much speed as she dared toward the grand staircase. She did not want to appear to be fleeing.

"Poor thing. I'll send the maid right up to help you dress for bed," his voice followed her. "And it's Sheldon!"

* * *

Amy remained composed to meet the maid at the door and calmly inform her that her services were not needed. She was very tired and long accustomed to dressing and undressing herself, but she thanked the other woman kindly for her services.

Her outward composure remained as she undressed and slipped on a flannel nightgown, at last an old, thin article of clothing that felt like her. Her face was stoic as she washed it and brushed out her hair. Even then, alone and in the middle of the giant and soft four-poster bed, Amy did not cry or wail or anything so untoward. She was British, after all, and such carrying on just would not do.

Fine. If Sheldon only wanted her for the publicity, that is the job she would do. First thing tomorrow, before breakfast, she would write a short article listing the guests present and the popular songs Penny sang. She'd write about what all the ladies wore and let her editor cut away what he wanted.

She would not write about Lord Sheldon Cooper and stolen kisses. Those things she would cut away herself.

* * *

The sound of a door close by awoke her, and it took Amy a minute to remember where she was. No sooner did she recall than she regretted it. It probably was exhaustion from travel that helped her fall asleep so quickly, despite the tumult of emotions at the end of the day. But now she was wide awake, listening to every strange creak and moan of the old house at night. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she started to make out shadowy features of the grand room around her. Moonlight streamed from between the curtains and a ray illuminated the objects on her night table. Next to her glasses was the alarm clock; it was far later than she imagined, well into the next day. Had the drawing room party just now broken up? Or was the shutting door an isolated event, albeit a strange one as she assumed all the bedrooms had their own bath. The hierarchy of the dinner table had shown her that if someone were going to have to walk down the hallway in the middle of the night to a water closet, it would be her.

Her brow furrowed when she heard muffled giggling. She lifted her head and placed the sound as coming from the wall behind her. But it quickly ended, and Amy settled back into her pillow. Turned on her side, she studied the objects on her night table, not because they were interesting but because they were there. Her eyes slide past the glass of water but then snapped back.

It was subtle, but it was definitely there: the surface of the water shimmered slightly. Amy shifted closer to inspect it, wondering if it were a trick of moonlight. But, no, the frequency of the shimmers increased as she got closer. The surface tension was lost for good and the water ever-so-slightly sloshed from one side of the glass to the other, a tiny ripple of ebbing and flowing. Before her eyes, it continued to increase, both in speed and force. She watched, transfixed, but it was not until she realized she had inadvertently timed her breath to it, that her exhales had become pants, that she understood.

Amy flopped over on her back, staring up at the bottom of her bed's canopy. Now that she knew what was happing, she swore she could hear it all on the other side of the wall: the squeaks of the mattress, the puckering of lips, the heavy breaths in unison. Leonard and Penny, of course, it had to be. She was unaware their bedroom was next to hers; in fact, she didn't know where anyone's bedroom was as hers was the first room in this hallway, just off the massive portrait gallery.

Shifting uncomfortably, Amy fanned her hot cheeks, pleased no one was around to see her. Or hear what she could hear quite easily.

She knew she should have pressed her pillows against her ears and screwed her eyes up tightly. But too many nights spent awake reading _Lady Chatterley's Lover_ came back to her. Unfortunately, the sounds and the quaking only led her to think about the kiss from Sheldon. Which, in turn, only made her more disappointed in herself. Of course, he was wrong to kiss her like that, but she was just as wrong to accept it so willing. Why had she not pushed him away or at least lectured him on the inappropriateness of his actions? Because, and this was the part she hated, she enjoyed it. For a moment, she genuinely thought someone so handsome and so intelligent wanted her in that way. She both loved and hated the way the kiss made her feel, just the memory of his lips and his hands causing desire deep within her.

Pressing her legs together, she rolled away from the water glass. Just before the lovemaking next door reached its crescendo, two stifled but joyous cries, she pulled the pillow over her head.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Hopefully, Dame Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers need no introduction to readers of this manor house mystery, the genre they perfected and made popular after World War I._ **

**_Although_ Lady Chatterley's Lover _was written by the English author D. H. Lawrence, it was, in its entirety, considered illegal as obscenity in the UK until 1960. One could obtain an English language censored edition beginning in 1932. However, it was published in full by the French in 1929 (and Italy in 1928) and black market copies could be obtained in England._**

_**As always, you can follow along with me on Instragram for teasers and visuals related to this story. My handle there is aprilinparisfanfic.** _

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, after she finished typing her short and mostly meaningless dispatch, Amy went downstairs and was surprised to find the dining room almost empty. Only Inspector Kripke was there.

"Good morning," she said brightly, gathering a plate from the sideboard. Perhaps he would be more cheerful this morning. She felt better with this new day, determined only to continue to her work as instructed and nothing more. "Where is everyone else so early?"

"Ummpph," he groaned and took a gulp from his mug. Coffee, Amy sniffed in the air. Well, there was another reason to dislike him. "Not so loud. My head hurts."

Amy continued filling her breakfast plate without comment. There was nothing she could say that wouldn't point out his headache was his own fault. Once she sat down, as far away from him as she could, Stuart suddenly appeared with that special magic known only to English butlers and a hot pot of fresh tea.

"Thank you," Amy said to him. "Will you be able to post something to London for me this morning? It's my article."

"Of course, Miss. Morning post should go out shortly."

As she passed over the thin envelope, she continued, "And have you seen Penny this morning? I'm supposed to interview her, but we haven't had a chance to make arrangements yet."

"She asked for breakfast in her room," Stuart supplied. "I understand she's staying there and resting her voice."

"Oh." Amy deflated. Well, surely she'd come down for lunch. "And everyone else?"

"Cooper gets up at the crack of dawn and insists everyone else does, too," Kripke answered for him. "It's one schedule after another with him. He probably schedules his trips to the loo. The meeting already started; they're all out in his lab."

"A laboratory?"

"He houses his scientific work in a separate building, west of the kitchen garden," Stuart explained, filling Kripke's mug of coffee. "It's to protect the house from explosions and such. My life is the only thing imploding here."

Amy wrinkled her brow. "I thought I had read he was a theoretical physicist who mostly did maths. I didn't know he worked with combustible experiments."

"He does some, but mostly Hofstadter does," Kripke answered again. "Thick as thieves they are. At least half of Penny's millions are going to Cunard Line. Hofstadter comes over at least twice a year. And I always see Koothrapali's car driving through the village on the way here."

"Fascinating," Amy said with surprise, taking a bite out of her rasher of streaky bacon. Perhaps Sheldon so rarely left Medford Hall because he was having people here? "A veritable commune of scientific enlightenment."

"Or a rat's nest." Kripke stood and took a huge gulp of coffee. But the liquid must have been too hot and, as he pulled the mug away fiercely, several dark droplets landed on his tie. He didn't seem to care or notice. "Well, I'm off to the station. See you at dinner."

"Are you not staying during the day? I thought you were supposed to protect Penny."

"Nah. Penny's fine. Another one of Cooper's overreactions. But it's a small village, so my duty is at the station."

Amy watched him leave without a good-bye and she didn't bother to extend one herself. What an unpleasant encounter. And how odd to leave in the middle of a job like that; although, possibly, it was arranged that way. She wouldn't worry about it as it did not involve her. But tomorrow morning, perhaps she'd breakfast in her room like Penny. The less time she spent in that oily man's presence, the better.

She finished her breakfast in silence, wishing she'd thought to bring something to read. It seemed that she wouldn't get much done this morning if the scientists were already in their secret meeting and Penny was resting her vocal cords. A novel would be a pleasant way to pass the time.

The library! She remembered reading about the rules of borrowing something from the manor's library in the Houseguest document, so clearly she was allowed to visit. If she couldn't write an article yet and if she had worked ahead on her puzzles, why not spend the morning enjoying the no doubt well-stocked library? Its collections would certainly be more vast than the 'take a book, leave a book' shelf in the foyer of her rooming house. Wiping any remaining crumbs from her skirt, she could hardly contain her excitement.

It was not difficult to locate the library off the central hall, and Amy opened the door in reverent anticipation. But she stopped short when she saw the figure sitting at a large desk in the corner, his dark hair parted straight as he looked down. In one hand was a fountain pen and in the other was a stopwatch.

"Oh! Lord Cooper! I'm sorry. I didn't know - I'll leave." What was he doing here? Why wasn't he out with his guests in his laboratory?

"Stay," he ordered, not looking up. "But let me finish this."

The silence suited her and she studied the library. The room was large and more bright and airy than she would have imagined for a library in such an old house, with several French doors leading outside between every floor-to-ceiling bookcase or two. In front of one of those windows sat a chessboard on an ornate wooden table and a giant globe by another. The carpet and the walls were a soothing shade of Wedgwood blue, and the cluster of deep armchairs around the fireplace opposite the desk were covered in matching blue chintz. It was exactly the way she would have liked her own library if she were lucky enough to live in a manor house. Not something stuffy and suffocating, but rather something sunny and cheerful yet cozy, just as welcoming and as comforting as one's favorite novel.

Drawing closer to inspect the books, Amy was not surprised to find the usual suspects of Shakespeare, Austen, and Dickens. However, there were more volumes by H.G. Wells and Jules Verne than she'd ever seen in one place before, and she wondered if it was their complete works. One bookcase, though, intrigued her more than all the others. Instead of books, it housed wooden boxes filled with slender periodicals, their covers facing outwards.

She risked picking one up. _Amazing Stories_ it declared, in a bold red, swooshing font. Amy's eyes jumped from the issue in her hand to the other covers visible on the shelf. They were all bright, the drawings on them the most fantastical things she'd ever seen: giant sea creatures, unrealistic monsters, and some kind of silver vehicles in sharp oval shapes, pointed noses, and fins off the back that seemed to be traveling among the planets of the solar system. Most intriguing, there were scientists but they were working with equipment she'd never seen before.

"Blast!" Sheldon called and Amy quickly dropped the magazine back into its box. Perhaps she wasn't allowed to touch them. "I would have had a better time if it weren't for you. Four minutes thirty-nine seconds!" Sheldon continued with a shake of his head, and Amy looked over at him in surprise. He was wearing a gray suit, simple but exquisitely tailored to highlight his broad shoulders and trim waist.

"Me? You told me to stay."

He sat down the stopwatch and wrote something briefly in an open book off the side. Was he logging his time? "No, not your presence here. But that pun about _Pride and Prejudice_ , it was a clever little riddle."

" _Pride and Prejudice?_ "

"Sixteen across."

Amy's mouth went dry. "You were doing _my_ crossword puzzle?"

"I do it every morning. Today, alas, was not my personal best." She swallowed, unsure how to reply to that. He looked up at her, his eyes sharp. "You should make them more challenging. I know you can; I see your brilliance sometimes, like this clue."

Her brilliance! Sheldon thought she was brilliant! But she tampered down her joy. His compliment could be a ruse, too, just like the kiss.

"I've been told they're too difficult," Amy explained. "I have to work on making them less ambitious."

Sheldon sighed. "Miss Fowler, if I may, you shouldn't lower yourself to the dregs of society. Instead, you should expect them to rise up to meet your superior intelligence."

"Superior intelligence doesn't always pay the bills. Especially for a woman."

Frowning, Sheldon nodded slowly and then said, "I suppose you're right."

Amy crossed to stand in front of the desk. "May I ask you something?"

"You just did. In fact, you've already asked four separate questions since entering. But, yes, proceed."

"Why aren't you in your laboratory with the other scientists?"

"Because Leonard had devised some kind of insipid 'getting to know you' game, an 'ice-breaker' he called it, and I wasn't interested in being a part of it. I will join them after the morning break."

Her brow wrinkled. "But you invited them. Don't you want to get to know them?"

"I've read all their published works and can gauge their intelligence from it; that's enough of an introduction for me. No reason to get all gushy and emotional about it. Leonard, though, he's an American, and you know how that is."

"Indeed." Amy paused. "It's good that I met you this morning. I think that perhaps, things were . . . clouded yesterday evening." Sheldon raised a single eyebrow, and Amy silently begged him not to bring up exactly what that cloud was composed of. Which, of course, meant she was thinking about the kiss again. She cleared her throat. "I accept responsibility; I was unclear and I may have insulted you. I was not implying that you were expecting preferential treatment with your excess payment. I merely meant that, regardless of your altruist motives, I cannot accept the payment so that it does not appear that _I_ would even consider giving such preferential treatment."

Sheldon sat back in his chair. "The money again? I told you, it's yours to keep, payment for services rendered. Don't worry, you'd not receiving special treatment, nor do I expect anyone thinks you will give any in return. No one knows how much I paid you. I paid Kripke, too, although I noticed he didn't spend his on any new evening clothes as suggested."

"But I already receive a salary from the newspaper. I can and will accept the coverage of my necessary expenses, but I cannot be seen to collect from two coffers as it were."

"If Mr. Clayton says anything to you about it, direct him to me."

"No. You don't understand. I am a woman of meager means in a man's profession. I cannot withstand even the faintest whiff of the smallest impropriety."

"Impropriety?" The eyebrow went up again and Amy felt her cheeks getting hot. That stupid kiss! It was ruining everything! It was not only putting her in a compromised position with this man, it was also keeping her from remaining calm and neutral when discussing what should be a simple business transaction. "You know, Miss Fowler, many feel the discussion of money like this is an impropriety itself."

"Money is only an impropriety when it is not a necessity."

Amy held his gaze. He could, with good reason, ask her to explain how she could simultaneously refuse money while making it clear how desperately she needed it to maintain her independence and livelihood. It was a paradox most men did not understand.

"Alright," he nodded, "a compromise: you will keep half the funds."

"No. Only what I have spent on the required train ticket and clothing."

"Plus a per diem; I have, after all, asked you to leave your home for this assignment."

"You are providing room and board for that," she countered quickly.

"A pre-paid tip for a job well done?" A faster reply from him.

"My articles may be abysmal." After all, what she had written this morning was a scant society piece.

"You would not allow it of yourself." Clipped, short words.

Well, he had her there. The article was short but it was expertly written. "I'll just leave it in my room at the end of the weekend and there will be no way to return it to me."

"I could come and bring it back to you. I know where you work."

He would not. He never left the estate. Her words came faster, louder in response. "Donate it to a charity of your choice."

"The charity of _your_ choice." His voice boomed, not a yell but a sharp, tense crashing.

"Agreed." A crescendo and then an exhale of relief. "The envelope is in my room; I will see it is given to you."

"Good." Again, the way he said it! She noticed his shoulders relax. "The topic is closed."

They studied each other for a second, until Amy looked away. She reached up and touched a bead of perspiration on her forehead, hoping he wouldn't notice. The debate had made her warm, the rapid volley of the objections back and forth. Not anger, but there had been tension and it continued to crackle in the room. She enjoyed it immensely, and that wasn't something she felt it was safe to examine anytime soon. It was best to examine the spines of the books around her instead. She moved to do so.

"Go ahead; ask me." She turned back sharply. "You are inquisitive by nature and profession. And combative, it seems."

Amy could not be sure exactly what he meant, but he had given her an opening to ask something that had been nagging her since Mr. Clayton had informed her of this assignment. "Why did you ask me here? I haven't published any research in a scientific journal, like the others."

"You are a reporter, not a researcher, so that follows."

"And that's why I'm not allowed to join the researchers in the laboratory? I just don't understand why you wanted a reporter but won't allow them full access to the events to be covered."

Sheldon looked away, a shifting of his eyes to elsewhere in the room. "It, um, was not my original plan. But one of the scientists felt that you should not be present at all - that it might be, um, distracting. But I wanted you to come; I wouldn't comprise on that."

Interesting. Someone didn't want a reporter around. "But you wanted me, specifically?"

His eyes snapped back. "Yes, of course. I wanted to meet you."

"But why? I'm not a famous reporter, I don't even work for the best newspaper in London. No one knows my name. I write articles that are brutally edited to a single paragraph if I'm lucky, and, as you pointed out earlier, I write dumbed-down crossword puzzles for the masses."

He gestured toward the small chair in front of the desk and Amy sat down. Then Sheldon opened a drawer and pulled something out. "I loved it from the first moment I read it. Ironic, I know."

When Amy saw the newspaper page he pushed across the desk toward her, she let out a small gasp. It was the only article she'd ever written that had been printed in its entirety. All two thousand words, right there below the Lonely Hearts advice column. Probably because of the subject matter: her report of the lecture concerning a study delving into love at first sight. The researchers in question had posited that it was a real event, but Amy's semi-editorial response had been that it wasn't possible, that someday love at first sight would be disproven, that was merely the flooding of one's limbic system with hormones required by the biological urge for procreation with a healthy fellow human specimen, not a lasting emotional attachment. And certainly not a profound, life-altering one.

"You read it? You saved it?"

With a nod, Sheldon explained, "While it lacks either journalistic objectivity or controlled testing in a laboratory setting, your hypothesis is sound. I find the human brain fascinating, no doubt because mine is so exemplary. And, of course, I find the very idea of love at first sight to be hogwash."

"Hogwash?"

"Excuse me. My mother was a Texan and remained quite fond of their colloquialisms." Amy nodded; one of the first things she'd done after getting this assignment was to read the Cooper entry in the copy of _Burke's Peerage_ that was kept in the newsroom. Sheldon's mother had been an oil baron's daughter who married an English lord to obtain a title while giving him money to save his estate. "Meaning, I find the idea absurd. I've always been puzzled by the idea that one could instantly find another interesting without a dialogue first. Of course, my internal monologue is compelling enough on its own that l fail to see the purpose of seeking out love."

"Oh." How should one respond to that statement? When one was the one he'd kissed so passionately just the evening before? Especially when one suddenly and inexplicably felt a pain in one's chest when hearing those words?

"Then why did you kiss me last night?" Apparently one responded emotionally, without thinking.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows but then frowned. "I apologize. You are correct, my actions were not only crude and untoward, they were disingenuous." Amy tried not to wince at the word. "May I propose a restart to our acquaintance?"

"A restart?"

"Yes, as though it was a broken piece of equipment in need of repair. We begin today. This moment, even. We do not discuss it again."

Amy saw the wisdom of his suggestion, especially as the kiss obviously meant nothing to him. Sheldon was a wealthy, titled man. He'd probably had all sorts of conquests. At least he had the decency to apologize whereas most men would brush it aside as nothing, even believe that the woman should be grateful for such advances upon their person.

But . . . "May I propose a compromise this time? One without negotiation?" She took his silence as acquiesce and continued before she lost her courage, "You don't ever kiss me again unless you mean it. Oh! And you kiss me somewhere I've never been kissed before."

Sheldon looked at her the same way he'd looked at Penny during dinner the night before, as though she'd said something so foreign to him that he couldn't construe how to process it. After a lengthy pause, he said, taking his time with each word, "Very well. I'll only kiss you again if . . . you're the only woman I want to kiss for the rest of my life."

Amy's heart flipped in her chest. "I said no negotiation. But yes."

"Yes." He licked his lips and then gulped.

"The topic is closed," Amy whispered and it felt just like a door being slammed. She cleared her throat and turned to look away from him and at the boxes on the shelf instead, deciding it was best to change the subject as quickly as possible. "What are those unusual periodicals?"

"Science fiction, in the tradition of Wells and Verne, but better. The imagination is boundless. Leonard mails them to me from America."

"Isn't that what Mr. Wolowitz writes?"

"Yes, although his stories often tend to unnecessarily veer into Martian mating rituals."

"He said you invited him because you like to discuss them. That you'd never met."

"It's true. But I didn't invite him just because I'm a devotee. His descriptions of aeronautical challenges and solutions when flying outside of Earth's orbit are scientifically sound, except for a few small errors I point out to him. It's a good thing he writes because we all know engineering is not a real profession." There was a ruffling on the desk and Amy turned back.

"Here," Sheldon held out another thin magazine to her, "TinTin, do you know him?"

She took it and looked at the cover. "No. It's French? It doesn't look like science fiction."

"Belgium and it's not," he said with a shake of his head. "It's called bandes dessinées or le neuvième art. We might say it's a comic, art and words together as one. It's not science, but it's a new way of telling a story. Some of the political beliefs are distasteful, to say the least, and there's a dog, which is terrifying, but I appreciate the style. I hope that someday the two forms of art will be combined. Maybe someday someone will write a comic with a hero whom I can support whole-heartedly. A hero with science on his side."

"Or hers."

Sheldon did that strange bird-like movement of his neck, the mannerism she'd noticed at dinner last night. But then the corners of his mouth twitched as his normally serious face softened; it wasn't a smile, not even close, but it was perhaps the idea of one. Amy ticked her head toward him, pleased to have delighted him. The air seemed clear of the uncomfortable tension about the kiss now.

Amy sat the comic back on the desk. "If I may, Lord Cooper, what is the overall purpose of this scientific conference? I understand the discussions are secret, I understand I'm not welcome at them, but surely you can share your attestation in regards to this meeting?"

"Hmm," Sheldon reached up to rest a finger against his lips. "Is this turning into an interview? Am I on the record?"

"It's a possibility."

"Alright." Sheldon shrugged. "I thought I could bring scientists from all over the Western Hemisphere, leaders in their fields, the greatest minds of our age, and that, by displaying this show of solidarity, we'd be able to demonstrate that science will lead to greater unity. We may be from different countries, we may have different specialties, but we all practice the same scientific method and we all have the same drive for truth, a truth that transcends politics."

Amy recalled the flare-up at the dinner table the night before, the quickly squelched argument about Adolf Hitler. "Do you really think that's possible? I agree with your principles but the Nazis do not. They are already using science as a weapon, drawing false conclusions, turning evolution into eugenics, claiming their so-called Aryan race is superior to the Jews and others. I don't see how imagining Martians and flying outside of Earth's orbit is going to stop Hitler. Or ancient Egyptian astronomy or geology or, well, that little comic."

Sheldon sighed deeply and got up to look out a French window, the expanse of the English garden sloping before him. The morning sun was streaming in, rendering him a dark silhouette. Amy was struck by the change it wrought, making the formerly confident man seem lonely and uncertain. Amy waited and watched, worried she'd offended him. Her mother always told her she was too blunt and honest and that men didn't like that from a woman.

"I fear you may be correct. I fear I am too late. I fear we all are," he finally said, his voice quiet. "I have loved science for so long. I believed in science - I still do - and I thought it was stronger than any other force in this world. I believed science would forge the path to a greater good, a brighter future. Science is always right; it's just the way it works. You test it and test it and put it through trial after trial, and it always tells you the truth. But now - now I am frightened for science, that it will be used against us, just as you said. First, there was mustard gas. It killed my older brother, Georgie, you know, painfully and slowly. And now there are rumors, whispers, things that have not been said publicly yet, but . . . I fear that far worse is coming. Not just gases, although I shudder at what they could be used for. But they are going to take the atom, the perfect beautiful atom, and they are going to exploit it. All of Marie Curie's work made into a murder weapon."

He turned back toward her. "Have you read _The World Set Free_ by H. G. Wells, Miss Fowler? Science fiction isn't merely useless entertainment. Sometimes, it's a warning." There was pleading quality to his voice and Amy looked away, her eyes stinging from his unexpectedly imploring speech. "But that's probably not what your editor wants you to write."

"No, I don't think so," Amy whispered. "I sometimes feel as if I'm the only one who notices."

Instead of replying, Sheldon let his eyes rest upon her. She felt them more than saw them, and she raised her eyes slowly back to him. Her breath caught in her chest. His face was placid but his eyes were tumultuous. He looked as though there was something a part of him wished to say but that there was another part of him battling against it. Never had Amy seen so much emotion, such conflict, conveyed in a single look. He raised his hand, only a little, two of his fingers looking as though they wanted to reach out and -

There was a soft knock at the door and Amy frowned as Sheldon lowered his hand. The moment was lost. It was Stuart, baring a couple of envelopes on a silver tray. Sheldon took them and briskly returned to the desk to review them. "And your article went out as well this morning, Miss," Stuart said. "I saw to it personally."

"Thank you."

As Stuart left and shut the library door behind him, Sheldon pulled a silver letter opener from a cup on the desk; it looked just like a dagger or small sword and it quickly sliced open the first envelope.

Sensing the interview or whatever had transpired here was at a close, Amy stood. "I'll leave you to your business, then. I just came to find a novel."

"Of course. But that copy of _Amazing Stories_ you picked up has one of Mr. Wolowitz's stories in it, if you're interested." He didn't look up from the letter.

"Thank you, Lord Cooper." Amy retrieved the volume in question. "I'll just take this -"

The door to the library swung open and Howard himself came barreling in, his face an obvious mask of rage, growling, "I will not stand for such language about my country! About our -"

Bernadette was practically tumbling in the room after him. "Please stop, you know Dr. Nowitzki -"

Amy stared at Bernadette who stared at Sheldon who stared at Howard. "Oh, hello," Bernadette finally recovered. "We did not realize anyone was in here."

"Clearly," Amy murmured.

Sheldon stood. "Well, as it seems that Leonard's little getting-to-know-you exercise has revealed everyone's faults, I suppose it's time to join you."

Unable to determine if he could feel the awkwardness in the room or not, Amy watched Sheldon usher the two flustered guests out of the room.

Then, at the last moment, he turned around in the doorway and looked at her as he gripped the knob, "Oh, and it's Dr. Cooper. Or Sheldon."

"I'll only call you that when I mean it. When I want to call you that for the rest of my life."

He sucked in his breath sharply and shut the door without a word.

Alone, Amy frowned. She had rendered him speechless, but it didn't feel as satisfying as she hoped. She had meant it to be playful, but her comment felt just as disingenuous and forced as his actions had the night before. Why had she tried to be flirtatious, when that was the very last thing she should be with him, a man who was not only her social superior but also her semi-employer?

No. She would finish this assignment and then she would return to London. There were would be nothing else between them, this weekend or for the rest of her life.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**Amazing Stories** _**was the first magazine devoted to science fiction. The inaugural issue was published in April 1926 by American Hugo Gernsback. It remains in print to this day.** _   
**The Adventures of TinTin** _**by Hergé was first published in 1929. It was not translated into English until 1951, which is why Sheldon reads it in French.** _   
**The World Set Free** _**by H. G. Wells was published in 1914. It is, ominously, about a world war that only ends with the use atomic bombs, a phrase first coined by Wells in the novel.** _

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	4. Chapter 4

As the weather was fine and sunny, luncheon was served on the broad flagstone terrace at the rear of the large home. Several small white wrought iron tables were clustered there. Trolleys had been set up to form a sideboard of sorts, and Amy helped herself to a couple of small crustless sandwiches and salads. She debated joining Rajesh, Howard, and Bert, already deep in conversation, or taking up at the third empty table in hopes either Bernadette or Ramona would join her after they filled their plates. Or would she be forced to sit alone, as she so often had in her life?

But seeing Penny sitting at one of the tables with Leonard and Sheldon, Amy took her chance to make up the foursome. She still felt embarrassed over her final interaction with Sheldon in the library, but she needed to talk to the actress. After asking to join the group and sitting down, Amy said, "Penny, I was hoping we might have an opportunity for our interview this afternoon."

"Oh, dear, I'm afraid I'm otherwise engaged."

"You are?" Amy cleared her throat. Surprise was not an excuse for rudeness. But, really, how could Penny be spending her days while everyone else was off in the laboratory? As far as Amy knew, they were the only two left in the house during the day; should they not make use of that time? "I mean, I don't want to impose."

"It's the travel - so exhausting."

"Of course." Amy failed to see how a sail on a beautiful ship in the grandest suite of all could be exhausting, but, well, it must be.

"How about this?" Penny leaned closer to her and stage whispered, "We'll brunch tomorrow morning instead!"

"Alright," Amy agreed, although she'd never once brunched in her life. Brunching was for those that had the privilege of sleeping in. Would it be in poor form to come down to breakfast earlier?

"That is, if I can get away." Penny looked pointedly over her teacup at Leonard, who nodded slightly. How odd. "Wonderful! I'll have a tray sent up to my room with all the goodies. And mimosas! We'll have mimosas!"

"What is a mimosa?"

Penny laughed, but it was such a delightful laugh that Amy couldn't help but smile. "A brunch cocktail. We always drink them when we stay at the Ritz in Paris." She shrugged, as though such an experience were commonplace. "Anyway, it's orange juice and champagne. So refreshing!"

"Champagne? For breakfast?" Amy sat her teacup down with alarm.

"Maybe she prefers Bloody Marys," Leonard offered.

"Oh! Yes, yes, Leonard is right; we must have both!"

Two alcoholic beverages! In the morning? "Um, I'm sure a mimosa is fine."

"And then, afterward, we can go for a walk. I see you're already wearing your old walking shoes; you're so smart to have packed them."

Amy looked down at her shoes. They were not, in fact, a retired pair kept only for traipsing about in the countryside. But they _were_ old, a simple pair of sturdy brown oxfords that she wore every day for years. She had polished them before coming but hadn't had time to resole them. But, compared to the fine buckled suede pumps she saw on Penny's feet, they did look like shoes only fit for hikes in the mud.

"I would suggest riding," Penny continued, oblivious to Amy's shoe crisis, "but Sheldon refuses to keep horses."

"Filthy creatures," he shuddered.

Penny and Leonard both smiled and then Leonard shared a tale meant to illustrate Sheldon's fear of most animals. It involved a street market in Oxford the two had come upon once, which included a small tribe of goats. That led to laughter on the couple's part, and Sheldon frowned.

"Yes, it was hysterical until you were bitten by a baby goat," he said, pointing at Leonard. "Then it was a completely different type of hysteria."

This made Penny laugh even harder and even Amy chuckled. She envied their easy friendship, even though she had difficultly imagining three more different people.

Looking over at Sheldon, Amy ventured, "Well, at least _you_ weren't bitten."

"True," he agreed, "rabies would have an adverse effect upon my reasoning skills." He paused. "Did you read Mr. Wolowitz's story?"

"I did." She read it after the library had emptied. The story centered on a trio of aeronaut pioneers shot out of the atmosphere to live on something called a space station orbiting the Earth. Biting her lip, Amy chose her words carefully, "It was . . . imaginative. Certainly a unique genre of literature. I would have never thought of a premise like that, and I agree with you that the section about leaving Earth's atmosphere seemed scientifically sound."

"But?"

"Well, there were parts I didn't understand. Why were the Martians who attacked green? Is their blood made of copper? How did they travel so far, so quickly? And doesn't it strain credibility that they were able to mate with the humans despite all their different physical properties?"

"Excellent questions," Leonard interjected.

Sheldon had been tilting his head, and then he said, "Well, in this case, since procreation did not seem to be the goal, I suppose the only thing the protagonist needed for his mating ritual was an orifice in which to insert his -"

"Okay!" Leonard said loudly as Penny coughed violently on her tea. He leaned over to smack her on the back.

"What?" Sheldon looked surprised. "When the only aim is physical pleasure, humans use orifices that aren't designed for -"

"Enough!" Leonard stood. "Too often, Sheldon, you forget you are in polite company."

"Polite but not prudish," Amy protested. "I read the story in question. I'm a scientist. And I've read _Lady Chatterley's Lover_ several times _._ Quite thoroughly, in fact."

Penny started coughing all over again and Leonard gave her another slap.

"See," Sheldon said, "Miss Fowler understands. Never mind I have no idea what _Lady Chatterley's Lover_ is, I admire anyone who researches a book so thoroughly."

"Well, now that that is settled, I supposed it's time for us to return to the lab," Leonard said. "Nice to see you again, Miss Fowler."

"Likewise."

Sheldon gave her a deep nod, and Amy smiled in reply. He was the only one not perturbed by her explanation

"Oh dear! I've got to go, too." Penny put her hand on Amy's shoulder. "But thank you. This is has been the most entertaining meal I've had in a while. See you later!"

The three of them left together and everyone else on the terrace quickly followed. She supposed Penny was retiring to her room again, although she didn't see what the rush was. Amy sat back with a sigh and finished her lunch alone.

* * *

During the afternoon, which Amy spent reading the H.G. Wells book Sheldon had mentioned in the library, the weather turned cooler and a chill seemed to settle over the house. The sky darkened with heavy clouds, so much that Amy had to turn on a lamp. Even Stuart came to inquire about the temperature of the radiator. She'd found herself tugging her homemade cardigan tighter, pleased she'd ignored Mr. Clayton's comments and packed her useful if plain navy gored skirt, the warm jumper, and her best striped blouse. She regretted wearing her evening dress with a jacket the previous night. Now she had no choice but to wear the black sleeveless one. Back in her room, she appraised herself in the mirror; she felt out of sorts in the dress, even though she was aware that the slender cut and the short feathery shoulders were more fashionable. At least it didn't have a low back.

She expected the same lively jazz and cocktail soirée she'd experienced the night before. But there was wine instead of harder alcohols and the music was quieter. Amy did not mind the change, but she quickly realized the atmosphere was muted as well. Faint strains of soft classical music came from the wireless. Despite the radiators clanging and tapping away, the drawing room also seemed chilly. It was probably because Kripke had returned from his duties at the police station and he stood with one of the French doors to the terrace open, standing there to smoke but letting in a cold draft. Amy considered asking him to close it, but he stood with his back to the room, disinviting all conversation. Not that Amy wished to have one with him again.

Fortunately, no sooner had she sat down on a settee then Bernadette entered and made her way over. Her cream evening dress this evening had another elaborate neckline, a row of large pink rosettes. "Miss Fowler, yes?"

"Yes. Please join me."

They exchanged pleasantries and general comments upon the weather, and then Amy asked, having studied the room, "Where is your friend, Dr. Nowitzki? She's not down yet."

"She is not my friend," Bernadette answered sharply.

Amy flushed. She had forgotten about the outburst at dinner the previous evening. But her journalist's instinct rose and she couldn't help but ask, "How long have you been acquainted?"

"I only met her here. She is unpleasant and I do not wish to know her further."

"Oh." Amy looked down at her wine glass. She wanted to ask more, to know all that had soured Bernadette on the other female scientist, but her brusque manner made her pause. She looked around the room and her eyes settled on Howard and Rajesh, standing by the mantel. They were murmuring quietly but with animated gestures.

"It seems that Mr. Wolowitz and Dr. Koothrappali have become friendly."

"Yes."

"Dr. Koothrappali is always outgoing, but this is the most talkative I've seen Mr. Wolowitz."

"He is not quiet, believe me."

"Oh, yes, you're friends."

"We are not - no. I mean today, at the conference. He was very open with his opinions."

Perhaps that had been the source of friction between him and Ramona that had caused him to burst into the library earlier? She, too, was free with her opinions and she'd already clashed with Bernadette.

"Did you know he writes? I read one of his stories today; it was most interesting."

"I heard something about it," was all Bernadette answered.

As her tone remained evasive, Amy sipped her wine and glanced over at Bert and Penny chatting near the wireless. It seemed at odd pairing, although Penny's face remained cheerful even when it was clear that Bert was repeatedly looking at the grandfather clock.

There was some noise in the hall, and Sheldon and Leonard came in together, deep in conversation. That was a surprise; Sheldon had skipped the pre-dinner cocktail hour yesterday evening. No sooner had they entered, then Bert abruptly left his discussion with Penny and went straight to Sheldon. A few murmured words were exchanged, and then Bert left in a rush. Odd.

Left alone, Penny went to the wireless, turning one of the knobs which filled the room with loud static that did not let up. Everyone turned. "Oh shoot!" she suddenly cried. "This infernal thing! It's broke again!"

Leonard hurried over to help, leaning over to look at the back of the device. Mumbled but frustrated words were uttered by them both and everyone turned to watch. Even Kripke must have put out his cigarette, as he closed the French door and came in, as well.

"Perhaps I can be of help," Howard volunteered. "I am an engineer."

Still bickering, Penny said to Leonard, "No, I told you it's the resonant frequency of the tuning circuit."

"No, I'm certain it's the selectivity," he countered.

As the couple had ignored him, each of them standing on one side of the wireless, Howard slipped in between them, turned the knob one way and then the other, and then pushed it as though it were a button. Twisting it again, the sound of a news commentator filled the room.

"The knob was loose," he said with shrug. "Life is not any fun without a working knob."

Amy's eyes darted around the room to see Rajesh covering his mouth with his hand and Leonard smiling. Did Howard realize what he was saying? He had such a deadpan way of speaking, there were times she wasn't sure if he was joking or not. But then she saw the edges of his lips quirk upward, the barest of a smirk, and, she smiled into another sip of wine. Of course, Howard would know all the dirty English slang words.

"Golly!" Penny laughed. "I'm so silly! I don't know why I didn't try that first. I guess I just heard Leonard saying all these big words and I wanted to try them out."

Such was her charm that everyone chuckled softly if uncomfortably at her misstep. Everyone but Sheldon, Amy noticed. Did nothing make him smile? But Stuart announced dinner just then, and all thoughts of the wireless were left in the drawing room as they passed across the hall to the dining room.

* * *

The subdued evening continued over dinner. Instead of glowing in the candlelight, the room seemed dim. Instead of sparkling conversation, the discussion quickly turned to the drudgery and pressures of academia. Having little to contribute, Amy listened politely but she felt left out. She glanced at Sheldon a few times, hoping to catch his eye. He was not a professor or researcher, so surely he, too, would tire of this exchange, but he seemed oblivious to her boredom. Kripke, the only other non-academic present, coped by drinking even more alcohol than he had the night before.

When he suddenly slurred, "What did you say?" it so surprised Amy she nearly jumped in her chair.

"I was talking about my experience at the Institut Curie when I studied there as an undergraduate," Ramona replied, smiling in a condescending manner at Kripke.

"No, no," he said up straighter, "before that. About your research paper."

"I _said_ ," Amy couldn't tell if she was annoyed at being interrupted or if she, too, was disgusted by Kripke's general slovenly manner, "that I won the opportunity to study there because of my work in my chemical physics class. My research was on fractal kinetics." Ramona then repeated what she had said earlier, a brief description of her research that Amy felt embarrassed to not fully understand.

But Kripke leaned forward and Amy had the feeling he was going to ask another question when Leonard said, "Sheldon studied at the Institut Curie, too, you know, before he came to Oxford. It's the only time he's ever willingly been on a boat."

Penny and Rajesh chuckled. "I guess the right woman can get him to do anything," Rajesh said.

"Even my attraction to Mme. Curie's brilliance did not prevent me from being nauseous for eleven hours straight," Sheldon moaned at the memory.

"So it _was_ true love!" Leonard quipped and everyone but Sheldon at the table laughed. It was the first true easy laugh of the gathering all evening.

* * *

Amy lay in bed, unable to sleep. Something about the entire evening had seemed off to her in a way she could not describe. Everyone had been on edge, jumpy and distracted. Even Penny and Leonard had publicly bickered about the wireless. Something must have happened this afternoon during the conference; Bernadette had alluded to it. Had Howard been too free with his opinions or his English dirty words and caused offense? It was possible; even his fiction, as Amy discovered, had the power to be divisive.

After dinner, Penny's songs in the drawing room had been mournful and slow, and it seemed that everyone coughed and fidgeted while she sang. Leonard wouldn't even sit down; instead, he prowled the room, his eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to be looking for something everywhere, even moving things on tables. It had been very distracting. Everyone came up for bed early and doors opened and closed with slams and rumblings of conversation prowled the hallway outside Amy's door. She tossed in bed, cursing her corner room; everyone else had to pass by on the way to their quarters. Once it seemed that surely ever door must be shut, the sounds of music came wafting under her door.

Amy sat up with frustration. Where was the curtesy for those trying to sleep? She listened to the distant strains and realized it was the same sad songs Penny had sung earlier. Penny or Leonard was playing the music again. Why?

Flopping back, Amy let out a deep sigh. At least the music was slow; if she just relaxed perhaps it would even soothe her sleep. She tried to concentrate on the melody of the tune and to relax into the sweeping string notes. But any attempt was cut short by the sound of another door ripping open, quickly followed by angry pounding.

Curious in addition to frustrated, Amy got up and silently cracked her door open to look down the hallway. She had forgotten her glasses but one of the women - probably not Bernadette based on the height, but certainly a woman based on the long, blonde hair - was pounding on a door. The music was louder in the hallway.

"Come out here and do your job!" she yelled as pounded.

"Dr. Nowitzki?" Amy asked, recognizing her voice. She opened her door wider and stepped into the hall. "What are you doing? Has something happened?"

Still clad in her evening gown, Ramona flounced down the hallway toward her. "Trying to get that policeman to do his job! There's someone outside my window!"

Amy raised her eyebrows. Someone outside a second story window? "Inspector Kripke told me that part of his job was circling the house every evening," Amy answered. "Is it possible he's not in his room because he is doing his job? If so, it's probably him you saw out your window. But I'll come have a look if you like."

"What is all this racket?" Sheldon's voice carried down the hall, even over the music. He stood in an open doorway that must lead to his room. "Some of us have very sensitive hearing and are trying to sleep." Did the music not bother him, just the shouting?

"Dr. Nowitzki saw someone out her window -" Amy started to explain as Sheldon walked toward them in red plaid pajamas and a matching robe. His hair remained as fixed and neat as ever.

"Outside my room!" Ramona interrupted.

"Er, yes, outside her room and she was concerned. But Inspector Kripke is not in his room; I think it's because he's doing he nightly rounds and is probably the person she saw."

"Miss Fowler is correct; it's the only logical solution." Sheldon crossed his arms. "Please return to your room, Dr. Nowitzki. Everyone is trying to sleep. I assure you that no one is interested in harming you. Once again, you are seeing things that aren't there," he snapped.

Amy flinched as Ramona huffed and stomped her way back to her room.

"That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?" Amy whispered yelled at the man standing next to her over the slam of Ramona's door. She had not made a good first impression upon Amy and she did not agree with her political opinions, but surely Sheldon's brusqueness was uncalled for. "She's in distress. Shouldn't we at least go look out her window for her? Put her at ease?"

"No. You may enable her fantasies if you wish, but I, for one, refuse to indulge her further. Goodnight, Miss Fowler."

Only able to utter a squeak of protest, Amy watched as Sheldon returned to slam his own bedroom door. Then she set her lips in a firm line and pulled down on her nightgown as though to straighten it. "Well, that was uncalled for," she grumbled as she returned to her room. She made a brief study out of each of her windows, but, seeing nothing untoward, she returned to her bed.

There, she added Sheldon's attitude and insults to the things that were keeping her awake. The music kept playing from down the hall, although it was quieter with the doors shut. Amy pulled the blankets over her head and fumed within the warm cave it created.

How dare Sheldon speak so to her! And to Ramona! It was not that she thought anything was truly outside of Ramona's windows or even that she necessarily liked the woman. It was the sheer venom in Sheldon's replies. And why was he so sure there wasn't someone outside her window? The more Amy thought about it, Ramona's fears weren't completely surprising. Wasn't Sheldon the one who had hired Inspector Kripke in the first place? Granted, that was supposedly for Penny's protection, but why was protection needed for anyone in the middle of this quiet country estate?

No, Amy thought, something untoward _was_ happening here and it was Sheldon's pompous and contradictory nature. She knew he had a reputation for being eccentric and anti-social and now she was seeing why. Every time she interacted with him, she seemed to meet a different version of him. There was the friendly, engaging one at lunch. There was the strategic, hopeful, and conversational one this morning. Then she flushed, overheated by the blankets, and pulled them away with a groan. There was the passionate version of him last night, the giver of a kiss straight from a romance novel.

Even that, though, had been inconsistent. One minute, he was searing her body and her memory with the heat of his flesh - she could still feel his palm upon her back - and the next he was apologizing, saying it was a mistake and an error, a foolish plan to dissuade Ramona.

Amy sat up in bed. That had to be it. The real question was why did Sheldon hate Ramona so much? What had happened between them? Would there be no peace in this house until she found out?

* * *

At first, it was in her dream. The cry of a crow, drowning out everything around it. But quickly, Amy's conscious pulled her back up as high-pitched screams pierced the night air. Instantly she was awake, her heart pumping as she stumbled up, grabbing her glasses and her dressing gown. The screams continued unabated, rising in terror. She shoved her bare feet into her oxfords, not bothering to lace them as she rushed out of her room.

The shrieks came from down the stairs and Amy raced toward them, hearing the doors opening and the questions of others gathering behind her. She led the charge down the staircase, but she stopped suddenly on the first landing, her breath catching in her throat at what she saw.

Rajesh stood at the bottom, screaming and hysterically sobbing and covering his face with his arms. And there, at his feet, at the bottom of the stairs, her blonde hair fanned out behind her, crimson blood pooling around the dagger piercing her chest, was Ramona.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_There is some dispute about exactly where and when the mimosa cocktail was invented, but the Ritz in Paris usually claims that honor in 1925. The Blood Mary was certainly invented at Harry's New York Bar in Paris in the early 1920s._ **

**_The_ _Institut Curie,_ _also called Institut du Radium at the time (I have chosen to use the former to emphasize the Marie Curie connection), was formed in 1909 and, during the 1910s, the research facilities were built in Paris near the Sorbonne. It still exists, performing research into cancer treatments. And it also houses Marie Curie's office and laboratory, which is a small museum open to the public. In fact, my Lego Shamy visited last spring!_ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	5. Chapter 5

A melee broke out on the stairs. Everyone rushed down as a mass, almost fighting for the lead. Stuart was at the bottom in a dressing gown, pulling a now-sobbing and pajama-clad Rajesh away from the scene.

"Wait! Nobody touch anything!" Amy cried, spreading her arms out wide to help prevent the group behind from passing. There were, she realized with a flop of her stomach, several splatters of blood on the carpet.

Ramona lay stretched out on the black and white marble tiles just at the foot of the stairs, her face contorted into a scream, somewhere between rage and shock. Crimson blood, turning dark, ran from the dagger in her chest and pooled on the floor beneath. She was still dressed in her evening gown, just as Amy had seen her in the hallway earlier. How long ago had that been? How long had Amy been asleep?

The sick feeling continued to churn in Amy's stomach. Ramona had been convinced someone was outside her window; Ramona had been begging for help. No one had believed her, but her fears had been justified in the cruelest possible way.

"Who is it?" "It's Dr. Nowitzki!" "Mon Dieu!" "Is she dead?" "It looks straight through her heart, what do you think?" "Should we check?" "Where's the Inspector?" The murmurs and questions came fast behind Amy.

"Let me through! Let me through! This is my house!" One voice rose above them all, and Sheldon pushed his way through the knot of people.

Even Amy stepped aside, down onto the marble but mindful of where she stood, to let him pass. "Be careful -"

"Oh, dear," he whispered when he reached the bottom stair, and then his eyes rolled back and he started to sway.

Amy stretched out her arms as she called, "Help me!"

Burly arms caught him from behind and Amy looked up, grateful to see the taller and larger Bert grasping Sheldon around the chest. "Thank you, M. Kibbler."

Considering the assembled group, Amy tried to decide what to do next. There were only six of them left beside her, although it had seemed like a massive throng when they were all thundering down the stairs. It was a ragtag group in their nightclothes, some hastily covered with dressing gowns, some barefoot, some not. Penny, in only a flimsy and scant lace-trimmed pale pink peignoir, seemed oblivious to her state of scandalous undress as her mouth and her eyes formed perfect O's as she stared at the body. Leonard, in the most hideous red dressing gown Amy had ever seen, tried to pull her away, to turn her face from the gruesome scene, but he wasn't having much luck. Even Bernadette had settled into Howard's silk-pajamaed shoulder; his face was slack with disbelief, although Amy couldn't tell if it were over the death or the way Bernadette's ample bosom pressed against him as she grasped her dressing gown at her throat. It seemed that no one could look away and everyone just faced the dead body in silence punctuated with sniffs. Except for Sheldon, of course, who hung limp and unconscious in Bert's arms. The Frenchman was wearing an unfortunately short nightshirt and a long pointed nightcap.

Because of where Amy was standing, the five conscious people on the stairs stared at her, their faces seeming to entreat her to do something. But what? How had she ended up here? And where _was_ Kripke? This was his job.

"Alright, yes, right," she said with a deep breath. "No one get any closer, no one touch anything. M. Kibbler, will you take Lord Cooper to the drawing room? I think that's where I saw Mr. Bloom take Dr. Koothrappali. See if we can get some strong, hot tea in there. Yes, yes, like that - careful! Go that way, mind the blood." As he shuffled away with his heavy burden, Amy glanced about to find someone to send to find the Inspector, when Kripke suddenly appeared over the railing at the top of the stairs and started his way down, none too quickly.

"Where were you?" Amy yelled up at him, angry at his delay.

He shrugged, but Amy couldn't tell if it was out of boredom, as though a murder in the middle of the night was just another day's work, or annoyance that such a thing had dared to wake him. "Getting dressed. Thought I might need to look professional." Amy would not have used that word for his rumpled suit. He made his way to the bottom and the two de facto couples parted for him.

Shaking her head, Amy decided she'd rather be busy and useful than stand around and watch whatever Kripke was going to do next. "I'm going to see about the tea."

In the drawing room, she found that the tea had already arrived and Stuart was handing Rajesh a cup; the latter's sobbing had stopped, but occasionally he let out a sort of hyperventilated snort. _God bless the efficiency of English butlers,_ Amy thought. At the opposite end of the same sofa, Sheldon was conscious again although he looked decidedly pale and greenish. Bert stood guard next to him, but his eyes brightened when Amy approached.

"I am glad you are here. I am not sure what to do with him," he said.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Sheldon groaned and Amy grabbed a decorative porcelain urn from a table and thrust it at him just in time.

"Will you go find us some water?" Amy suggested to Bert, who lumbered quickly out of the room, probably relieved to leave the vomit to her.

Patting her hand over Sheldon's hair as he retched, she asked Stuart, "Will you pour us some tea? Black. We need it strong."

"Brandy?" he asked. "His Lordship doesn't usually imbibe, but perhaps, given the circumstance -" Sheldon retched again, loudly cutting him off.

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Amy replied. "I always think just a good hot beverage will do in times of distress."

Bert returned with a glass of water, goodness knew from where, but Amy did not ask. Amy let Sheldon swish and spit the water out into the urn, and then she took both away from him. He sat back and accepted the tea from Stuart with a shaking hand.

"Thank you," he said, looking up at her, his voice horse and weak.

Amy smiled sadly but then wrinkled her nose as she looked around for somewhere to put the urn and decided on a table far enough away where she thought the smell wouldn't reach them. "Such a shame," Sheldon said. "It was Ming and now we'll have to throw it out."

The two disposed men sat calmly, taking sips of tea, and Amy and Stuart looked at each other. "How is Dr. Koothrappali?" she asked.

"I think it was a dreadful fright."

"Well, yes, that's understandable. He's so fortunate you were close."

"I came when I heard the screaming, like everyone else."

Amy glanced around the room, although she knew what she would not see. "But, where is everyone else, then? The cook, the maids, the footmen?"

"Oh, I told them to stay downstairs, that I would see what the trouble was. Cook, though, had the foresight to start the kettle for tea."

"Good idea."

Kripke came into the drawing room right then and stopped just inside the door. "Ugh, what's the smell?" Amy opened her mouth to explain, but he continued, "Oh, right, Cooper. Never could stomach the sight of blood. Anyway, I need all of you to return to your rooms and stay there until told otherwise. The others have gone up. You, butler -" Stuart stiffened "- have everybody's breakfast sent up to their rooms in the morning."

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'll call for everyone to ask them a few questions, one at a time."

Wondering if Sheldon would argue with any of these instructions, Amy looked back at him. He'd almost finished his tea and his color was returning. "Lord Cooper?" she prompted.

"Yes - yes - what the Inspector says," he said. "How - how long will she - it - she be there?"

"I just used your telephone to call for the doctor and my sergeant, they're on their way."

"May I at least cover her?" Stuart asked. "It's only decent."

Kripke waved in an offhand manner, and Stuart left with Bert trudging behind.

Suddenly exhausted, Amy wanted to pour herself a cup of tea but discovered there were no more cups. Strange that Stuart had only brought two; but then, everything was so rushed. Turning in a circle, she spotted a few extra cups on the bottom of the bar cart and brought them over. Then she sat, deflated, on the sofa between the two men, cradling the warm tea. "Would either of you like more?" she remembered to ask. They both shook their heads.

"Is that brandy?" Kripke asked, grabbing the crystal bottle off the tea tray. "Don't mind if I do."

As he poured the amber liquid into a teacup, Sheldon said, "Thank you, Miss Fowler. I, too, find a strong _non-alcoholic_ hot beverage to be restorative when one is distraught."

"It was Mr. Bloom you should thank, not me." She paused. "But I'm glad you're both feeling better."

"I love Agatha Christie," Rajesh said, surprising Amy by speaking for the first time since she'd entered, although it was softly. "She's my favorite author. But I had no idea how it would really be, what it would look like. It was just shocking to see death like that, up close. I was so foolish."

Amy patted his arm. "No, you weren't. I thoroughly enjoy her novels, as well. But of course coming upon that scene unexpectedly in your real life was distressing. One never thinks it could actually happen."

"I've even hosted parties inspired by her stories, with costumes and fake murders. Like a silly game. Who do it? In what room? With what weapon? I didn't imagine how distasteful it was."

"I did," Sheldon piqued up. "It's why I never came when you invited me. That and I thought it would be boring."

Speechless, Amy took a long drink of tea.

* * *

After Stuart returned to tell them the body was covered, they all left together to return to their rooms. Kripke, she noticed, followed behind them, his cup of brandy with him. Rajesh stared straight ahead as he walked past the body. The white tablecloth from the dining room had been placed over it and the pool of blood, although there was the ominous high peak that was the handle of the dagger. Watching Sheldon carefully, Amy walked close to him. He paused with a soft gasp in the hall and reached for her hand. Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Amy sifted her hand up to loop around his arm and tried to provide support for him as she marched him quickly up the staircase.

At the top, Stuart came and wordlessly took his opposite arm and Amy relinquished the shaken man with a grateful half-smile. Everyone was silent, a pall having spread over the house. Except . . . there it was again, the same music from earlier this evening. Those forlorn songs Penny sang in the drawing room.

"Inspector Kripke?" Amy asked.

He turned from the top of the stairs, where he had started to go back down to wait for the doctor.

"Where do you think that music is coming from? Should we turn it off?"

He shrugged. "If it's not coming from the dead girl, then I don't really care."

Frustrated, Amy followed the music down the empty hallway, listening carefully as it got louder outside a door she recognized from earlier. Not Penny and Leonard's door as expected. There was a label-holder on the door, just as on hers, and written in neat script was the occupant's name. Or the former occupant's name: **Dr. Ramona Nowitzki**.

Seeing the door wasn't even latched, Amy took a deep breath and pushed it open without resistance. The light was on. She did not think she should be in Ramona's room, but she also needed to stop that music. She decided she would just turn the gramophone off and rush out. Tomorrow, she'd tell Kripke what she'd done.

She kept her eyes focused on the task, although she quickly - and surprisingly - ascertained the room was smaller than hers. Strange, but Amy did not dwell on it as she located the gramophone player and leaned over to lift the needle from the turning record. Amy blinked. The needle wasn't touching the record. Because there wasn't a record. How was the music playing? She leaned close to study the player more closely, not wanting to touch anything unnecessarily.

But what she saw inside the wooden case confounded her. It looked like two small rotating reels, with a thin black strip stretching between them. It was similar to a projector at the cinema but much smaller and horizontal instead of upright. And no images were playing anywhere; Amy was only aware of sound being applied to movie films. Then she spotted a small silver switch in the corner, and when she flicked it the reels stopped moving and the music along with them.

"It's called magnetic tape."

Amy yelped and jumped away. Penny stood in the doorway of the room.

"Sorry," the blonde woman said, coming closer, "I didn't mean to scare you. I guess we came for the same reason."

"Magnetic tape?" Amy asked, getting her breath back.

"A transducer magnetizes the iron oxide and captures the sound."

"Wh - what? As in Valdemar Poulsen's magnetic wire recording but on tape? Based on the theories of Oberlin Smith?"

Penny's serious face broke open wider. "Maybe?" She put her hands out, palms up. "I don't know. Maybe it's wax instead? Like a record? Now I can't remember what Leonard said. All this sciencey mumbo-jumbo, I can't ever get it right." She laughed at herself.

"No, actually, I'm pretty sure you got it exactly right."

"Golly! Will you look at that? Leonard would be shocked. Anyway, I just came to get it. It's his. Dr. Nowitzki was borrowing it but we need it back for our gramophone." She reached over and, in a rapid series of events, moved a couple of pieces and pulled the innards of the gramophone box free. The device with the two reels on top sat in her hands.

"How does it work? Should you take it?" Amy asked. "I just wanted to turn the music off, but maybe we should leave it -"

"Come on, sweetie," Penny tucked the device under one arm and hooked the other through Amy's and walked with her to and out the door, flipping the light switch off on the way. "Inspector Kripke says we're supposed to be in our rooms, remember? Actually, it's probably good we did that together, you know, so we can tell him that. No monkey business, just two gals working together. There is your room, right? I saw the name on the door. Anyway, sweet dreams. Thanks for your help. Oh, gosh, I just realized we can't brunch together tomorrow. It's okay, we'll figure something else out. Goodnight!"

Amy watched wordlessly as Penny walked away with the device in hand, still clad in only her pink peignoir.

* * *

After a restless night, Amy was awake and dressed even before her alarm clock sounded, when dawn was barely breaking over the horizon. Sitting at the typewriter in the sunrise, she wrote a brief article about Ramona's murder. Crime reporting was not her beat, but as the known facts were so few she had little difficulty. Pulling the paper out of the roller, Amy reread her work, mostly satisfied except it needed a quotation or two. She sighed just as there was a knock at the door.

A footman was there with a breakfast tray, and Amy saw other servants behind him delivering trays and trolleys to the rooms down the hallway. Amy thanked him but didn't bother to lift the silver cloche. Instead, she hung at her doorway, waiting for all the staff to disappear behind doors before she skittered down the hallway, hoping not to get caught by Inspector Kripke.

Sheldon's door was slightly ajar and she heard Stuart's voice inside. She knocked softly and waited for the butler to come. "Miss Fowler? Is your breakfast unsatisfactory?"

"No, no. I'm sure it's fine. I, um, came to speak to Lord Cooper."

Understandable surprise filled his pause. "Miss, I'm not sure -"

"Let her in," called Sheldon's voice and, with only the slightest tilt of his head, Stuart opened the door wider.

Sheldon sat in a comfortable armchair in front of an unlit fireplace. He looked weary and he was wearing the most unusual clothes. Not his pajamas and not the gray day suit he wore yesterday, but instead the dark straight trousers of a working man and not one but two jersey shirts: one polo shirt layered over a striped Rivera shirt. Both were clean and pressed, but they were a random assemblage of clashing colors and styles and necklines, not the fine clothes of a peer of the realm.

"Ah, Miss Fowler. To what do I owe this delightful if somewhat illegal pleasure?" he said, taking a drink from his tea, as Amy heard the bedroom door shut behind them. They were alone now.

Did he enjoy somewhat illegal pleasures? Amy shook her head to clear the thought. "I came to inform you that, as the journalist on the scene, I expect to be tasked with writing about Dr. Nowitzki's untimely death for the _Herald_. In fact," she waved the typed paper, "I've already begun. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I would like to know if you would be willing to make a statement."

"You may say that it's a travesty to lose such a respected scientist, and I will cooperate and support the Inspector fully in his investigation as will all my guests."

"Of course." She stood, picking silently at the edge of the paper.

"And?" Sheldon prompted.

"I - I also want to make it clear that I will abide by all the principles of journalistic integrity. There will be no gossip or sensationalism in my articles; I will stick the facts as they are presented to me by the police. But I also want to be clear that such integrity does not allow room for favoritism. Even to you."

"I wasn't expecting such," he grumbled in an angry tone. Then he paused and waved to the chair beside him. "Sit down. Eat with me. There is plenty."

Having left her breakfast behind, Sheldon's looked quite scrumptious. And it was probably better to stay put instead of risking getting caught out of her room again. Amy sat and Sheldon poured her a cup of tea as she arranged a napkin over her lap.

"Miss Fowler," he said, softer this time, "I would expect nothing less than factual and objective reporting from you. It is why I have already written a missive to Mr. Clayton, informing him that you are the only reporter I will allow to have access to my estate during this time. I can have a great deal of pull in such matters when I want."

Amy coughed on a piece of toast. "You did?"

"Yes. You are a scientist and scientists, by nature, know to look for the truth, no matter what it is, no matter what preconceived notions it may render moot in the process."

"Thank you," Amy murmured. "I apologize. Mother always says I am too brusque."

"A little," he conceded. "But I do admire your direct manner of speaking. I am not proficient in social situations, and I find discourse with you refreshing. I wish we could chat under other circumstances." He sighed and his shoulders slumped. "This has spoiled my conference. I doubt anyone will be attentive to what I have planned."

"You're going to continue?"

"Of course." He looked genuinely surprised.

"Don't you think it would be in poor taste to do so?"

He tilted his head.

Deciding to change the subject, Amy asked, "Do you think Inspector Kripke is up to the task? He seems a little . . . rough."

"Believe me, I am no fan of Kripke. However, he is the local Inspector and he has proved competent in dealing with other matters here in the village. He caught the poacher on my estate just last year and there is often a spat of ne'er-do-well lads coming over from Cambridge to egg the shops and whatnot."

"Egging some windows is a far cry from murder."

Sheldon had been pouring more tea and the stream of liquid stopped even as he held the pot in the air. Then, just as quickly it resumed. "You're correct, of course. I just meant to illustrate that, despite Kripke's unpleasant hygiene, slovenly personal habits, and generally foul personality, I do respect the order in which these things are done. There are procedures to follow. Although," he frowned, "I've never seen him drink as much as this weekend. Perhaps he's falling into alcoholism."

"Such a ringing endorsement," Amy muttered. "If you dislike him so, why not call and ask the Superintendent to assign someone else? Surely you have that pull."

"Because," Sheldon stirred his cup, "it is I who had Kripke assigned to Medford Village."

Amy sat her teacup back into its saucer with such a loud crack she almost thought she'd broken it. "What?"

Sheldon took an unhurried bite of his eggs. After wiping his mouth, he said, "You are correct I have pull with the Superintendent, should I choose to use it. It was I who pulled the strings to get Kripke the inspectorship here in the village in the first place."

"Why?"

"He had fallen on hard times and I knew he needed a job. Medford Village is, as you so astutely pointed out, not a center for criminal activity. I felt the relatively low demands of the job could be met even by him."

Her head swirled with questions. How did Sheldon know Kripke, if it wasn't from the village? What kind of hard times? How long ago did this all occur? But mostly: "But why does he still hold such contempt for you after you provided him with this opportunity? Shouldn't he be appreciative of the favor?"

"He doesn't know I did it. He probably thinks it was luck or his charm or something equally ridiculous." Sheldon looked up sharply. "And, Miss Fowler, that is strictly off the record. This conversation will remain between the two of us. Is that understood?"

Amy nodded mutely as she ate a slice of toast. She still didn't understand so much, including why he felt comfortable with Kripke in charge of this murder investigation. Clearly, it wasn't that he minded using his influence on the police force when he wanted. And he as good as admitted that he thought Kripke was almost useless, captured poachers notwithstanding. It was obvious some sort of history linked them. All of these questions just made Amy doubt Kripke's abilities even more, even if Sheldon had intended to use them to reassure her.

As she tried to order her confused thoughts, there was a knock at the door, and Stuart reappeared. "Pardon me, Sir, but the Inspector is asking to see his first witness, as he says."

Sheldon leaned forward to put his teacup down. "Of course. Where have you put him?"

"No, Sir, he says he wants to see Miss Fowler first."

"Miss Fowler?" "Me?"

Amy gathered her surprise as she tucked her napkin under the edge of her plate. Standing, she said, "No, it's fine. It's just procedure, I'm sure. The order in which these things are done." Sheldon blinked as she repeated his words back to him. "I need to get his statement for my article, anyway. Mr. Bloom, please, if you will show me the way."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Cluedo (or Clue), the party board game Raj obliquely references here, wasn't created until 1943 by Anthony E. Pratt._ **

**_Modern magnetic tape reel-to-reel audio recording & playback was invented in Germany in the early 1930s, based on previous magnetic wire recording invented in 1924. The tape version was far superior and it remained a German classified secret throughout World War II, until it was discovered at the end of the war by Allied soldiers. However, at this time, the device would have been much larger than I depicted here but I choose to take some artistic license._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	6. Chapter 6

Amy followed Stuart down the hall when he suddenly stopped, pressed upon a rosette in the paneling, and opened the wall to reveal another passageway.

"I'm sorry, Miss, I think we should take the servants' stairs. Due to the, well, the -"

"Yes, of course," Amy answered, relieved and curious in equal measure. The servants' staircase was plain wood but sturdy and well-lit as it doubled back on itself a few times. It wrapped around a small caged elevator; Amy could not fathom the expense. At the bottom, Amy found herself deposited at another hidden door. There was another simple hallway headed away from her, into the recesses of the house. Amy's brow wrinkled, trying to work out the floor plan in her head.

"Are we near the great hall?"

"Yes, Miss. Just behind the big stairs. It's a more direct path. It makes it faster to serve the rooms. The hallway there -" he pointed as they stepped through "- travels under the grand staircase to the dining room. The stairs have always been here, as I understand it, but His Lordship put in the elevator. Quite a clever design."

Closing the paneling behind them, Amy saw that rugs in the hall been rearranged to cover the spot where Ramona's body had lain the night before and another tablecloth draped over the blood splatter on the stairs. Neither of them commented on it as the butler led her through a side hallway to what he called the morning room, and Amy immediately wondered why Kripke had elected to hold his interviews there. Perhaps for the quiet, as it seemed this room was in a separate wing than the more frequently used spaces.

Bright with the early light, as the name implied, the room was very different from the other sedate and modern rooms Amy had seen; this was a riot of bold colors, starting with the bright orange wall color and the frilly but dainty chairs covered in a profusion of orange blossom fabrics. It was feminine and old-fashioned, and Amy wondered if it were not to Sheldon's tastes. It would explain why breakfast wasn't served there and why it had a faint musty smell, as though dust covers had just been removed from the furniture. However, she quite liked it, down to the surfaces covered in Victorian dollies and spilling over with knick-knacks of days gone by. Although the room was chilly, it was blessed with a large curved window, over a sunny window seat, that overlooked the same pond as the terrace, although from a different angle.

The Inspector sat at a round table, a large plain cup of coffee at his elbow. "Miss Fowler."

"Inspector Kripke, good morning," she replied, sitting at the chair placed opposite him. He looked different this morning; his shirt was clean if not pressed, his tie was straight, and he'd even shaved off that disgusting stubble of the day before. Despite his alcohol consumption last night, he did not appear hungover as he had the previous morning. He was, Amy realized with a start, _enjoying_ this.

"I suppose you wondered why I asked for you first." Pleased at how quickly he got to the point, Amy agreed. "To be honest, I need an assistant and I think you would do nicely."

"An assistant? What do you mean?"

"I need someone to take notes, accurate but speedy. And then someone who knows how to type them up for me later. I assume you know shorthand."

Amy tried not to curl her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was spend her time at Kripke's beck and call, doing his busy work.

"I think you're confused. I'm a guest here, as well. And I'm a reporter, not a stenographer or secretary," Amy argued. It grated on her that he assumed that she, a single woman, was here just to be somebody's dogsbody and not worthy of being a guest herself. Her clothes may not have been as fine as everyone else's but her mind certainly was.

"But you do know shorthand?"

Her face flushed. "I learned it to take more efficient notes at the Royal Society lectures," she admitted.

"Good. And you said you have some scientific training, so that will be useful if any uncommon words that come up in the interviews."

"You think the work of the scientists or the discussion yesterday in the laboratory is related to Dr. Nowitzki's death?"

His grin in reply was wolfish and Amy cursed her curiosity. "See, you _are_ interested. Think how fascinating it will be, to sit here beside me and hear it all for yourself."

"But how do you know I'm not the murderer?" Amy said in another attempt to escape the task. Although, and she would never admit it, he had a point.

"Fair question. Let's establish that you are not. How well did you know the deceased?"

Amy sighed. "Not well. I met her here, Friday evening."

"So, twenty-four hours or so before her death. Did you know anything about her before you arrived here?" Amy shook her head. "How many conversations did you have with her?"

"Two."

"Were they lengthy or private?"

"No."

"Do you know what her area of research was?"

"Only that she's a physicist from Oxford."

"Tell me your version of events last night. Start after we all went up to bed."

"I went to bed but had trouble falling asleep. There were doors slamming and someone turned on a gramophone. It played over and over all night, at least until . . ." Amy frowned. The more she thought about it, the odder it became. "Then, I heard someone yelling in the hallway, so I went to look. It was Dr. Nowitzki banging on your door."

Kripke looked genuinely startled at this news. He scrambled for a small black notebook on the table and uncapped a pen. "What? What time was this?"

"Just after eleven. I looked at the clock on my way out."

"I wasn't in. What did she want?"

"She said she saw someone outside her window. She wanted you to go check. I tried to calm her down, I explained that it probably _was_ you, that you were outside doing your nightly round. She didn't seem to believe me. She was very upset, angry even."

"Yes, yes, I was outside then."

"Were you?" Amy asked with narrowed eyes.

Kripke snapped, "Yes, I was. I make a lap around the house every night at eleven. Get the last of my smokes in because Cooper won't let me smoke in my room. Ask the butler, he's always winding the clock or something in the hallway." His voiced hardened, "Don't forget, I'm asking the questions here, Fowler. What happened next?"

Amy gulped. "Lord Cooper came out because he heard her banging. We both told him what she thought she saw, along with my theory, and he agreed that was the logical explanation. He, um, encouraged Dr. Nowitzki to return to her room and she did, although she didn't seem pleased to do so."

Something she had said seemed to intrigue Kripke as he leaned forward. "Cooper? What do you mean he encouraged her?"

"Frankly," Amy admitted, "he wasn't very kind. He dismissed her claims and accused her of making it up."

"You don't think she was?"

Amy shrugged. "I'm not sure. She was very upset. I think she truly believed what she was telling us; I don't think she believed it was you. But whether it was a trick of her imagination or not, I could not say."

"Then what happened?"

"Lord Cooper and I had crossed words. I told him I thought he was too curt and too rash in dismissing her, and he told me I was enabling her fantasies." Amy paused at the word choice. "Then we both returned to our rooms and I finally fell asleep."

Making some sort of mumbling noises, Kripke scribbled in his notebook. "Look at this handwriting, it's awful," he grumbled. "What next?"

"I woke up when I heard the screaming. I threw on my dressing gown and ran down the stairs along with everyone else."

"Everyone else? Who exactly?"

"Well, not _you_ ," Amy said pointedly but Kripke merely shrugged. "And not Dr. Koothrappali - he was the one screaming - he was already at the bottom on the stairs. Mr. Bloom was there, too, trying to lead him away. So, me, M. Kibbler, Dr. Hofstadter and Penny, Dr. Rostenkowski, and Mr. Wolowitz. Oh, and Lord Cooper at the back."

"What do you mean 'at the back'?"

"I mean he was bringing up the rear. I only remember it because everyone had to move for him to get to the front and then he fainted. M. Kibbler caught him."

"How far back do you think he was? Do you think he came down the stairs with the rest of you?"

Wrinkling her brow, Amy tried not to look surprised at the question. "I suppose I can't be absolutely sure, as I was at the front because of where my room is, closest to the stairs. But it seemed to me that he was with the group." She looked up sharply. "Why?"

"Do you think he could have joined the group later, come down after everyone? Or even from another direction?"

Amy considered. "I don't think so; he was on the stairs behind everyone else. It all seemed to happen so fast, I think we all had to be together. But I admit I wasn't looking behind me, not until he spoke."

"Go on."

"There isn't much else. Mr. Bloom took Dr. Koothrappali to the drawing room for tea, M. Kibbler did the same with Lord Cooper, and I followed once you arrived."

Kripke sat back with another wolfish grin. "Well, I have to say, Fowler, while I still don't think you killed her, you have proved useful already. Very useful indeed."

Unsure how to reply, Amy didn't. It was understandable that Kripke would be interested in Ramona's fear of seeing someone outside her window, but something about Kripke's reaction unsettled her, as though she'd just confirmed something for him. He seemed more interested in Sheldon's actions than anything else. Now that Amy knew there was a history of some sort between them, his interest made her uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable enough that she still didn't wish to be his secretary, even if she was curious to know what he was thinking. Besides, it just wouldn't do.

"Inspector Kripke, I think I need to remind you I'm a journalist. I'm certain I'll be tasked with writing the articles for the _Herald_ , as I'm here on the scene." She swallowed away the realization that was yet another arrangement by Sheldon. What wasn't he using his influence to arrange? "In fact, I've already written the first and would appreciate a statement from you. So, you see, I can't be present for the interviews. I need to remain impartial. Things will probably be disclosed that the police - that you - will wish to remain secret. It won't do for me hear them."

Leaning back in his chair, Kripke pursed his lips. "I see your dilemma -" Amy breathed a sigh of relief "- but I also see the solution." She frowned. "Yes, you may hear confidential details. But you already know you can't write about them. At the end of every day, I'll give you an updated statement, just as I would if you weren't in the room. That is what you will base your article upon."

Amy stared at him, trying to work out the solution to her predicament. "I'm sure Cooper can be persuaded to pay you handsomely for your services," Kripke added.

"No," she protested quickly. Too much of this weekend felt out of her control. She knew she was being manipulated by the Inspector and at times she suspected Sheldon was trying to do the same. If she wanted to get to the bottom of whatever what happening in this house of mystery, she'd need to be privy to its secrets. Just like an Agatha Christie novel.

But she'd remain an impartial viewer, just a stenographer and not a participant. She'd listen to the clues and she'd just sit back and think about them. She'd use her little gray cells, which were, after all, her favorite cells. Just like an Agatha Christie novel.

"Fine."

She swore she heard Kripke's teeth snap with his new smile, and she shivered at the image of the snapping of a wolf, catching its prey.

* * *

Instead of the next witness, Kripke suggested they go together to search Ramona's room.

Surprised it hadn't already been done and that she was being included, Amy asked, "Me? Should I be in there?"

"Yes, I think it's better if we're together. Then, if we find something, there can be no doubt about it. The chain of evidence, Fowler."

"Well, I suppose Hercule Poirot often searches the quarters of the deceased after the crime scene," she mused in confirmation of this course of action.

"We can pull the rug back in the hall if you want to see the stain," Kripke offered with an unkind chuckle as they walked toward the stairs. Several footmen were there now with buckets and brushes. None of them raised their eyes from the gruesome task at hand, not that Amy wanted to make eye contact in such circumstances. Ignoring the servants, Kripke launched up the uncovered part of the staircase and Amy felt she had no choice but to follow. Had Stuart not also shown him the servants' staircase this morning? Or was that reserved for her, a female, so she wouldn't faint? She rolled her eyes at the thought.

"What do you make of that? Killing her in the hall?" Kripke inquired halfway up.

"A crime of opportunity," Amy answered, surprised to be asked although less so now that it seemed Kripke would be using her for more than typing. "It doesn't seem like a place one would plan. Unless, of course, the killer wanted her found by morning."

Kripke grunted by way of reply, which made Amy wonder if he agreed or not. Outside Ramona's door, she remembered her promise to herself. "Wait! I need to tell you something."

"A confession?"

"Of sorts." Biting her lip, Amy explained about the gramophone and how she'd come in to turn it off and that Penny had come to do the same. She didn't mention the strange reel device because she still wasn't sure what to make of it and the conversation with Penny about it.

"You came in together, turned off the gramophone, and left?"

"Yes, that's the gist of it. Oh, and turned off the lights. They were on and the door wasn't fully latched. Do you think that's important?"

With a half shrug, Kripke said, "Maybe. I'll have the butler lock it after we leave."

The room looked exactly as Amy remembered, just brighter by the light of day. "I don't think anyone else has been here," she said. "That's good, right? What are we looking for, exactly?"

"Anything that looks out of place."

It was uncomfortable, searching someone's belongings and it made Amy sad, too, to picture Ramona picking out a new dress or a pair of shoes for the weekend without imagining she would die before wearing them. As there were only clothes in the wardrobe, Amy moved on to the nightstand. She opened a small jewelry case there and shifted through the few paste pieces thrown in there, but she did not find anything special. In the drawer was a small clothbound book, and she pulled it out, flipping the pages. "Here's an engagement calendar, I think."

"A diary?" Kripke stood up from where he was looking in the rubbish bin.

"No. It looks just like an appointment book. Dates and times. No details."

Something fell out and fluttered to the floor. Amy handed the book to Kripke and reached down to pick it up. "It's a photograph. A little girl."

As he looked over her shoulder, Kripke grunted, "Ugh. A mongoloid."

"Stop it," Amy snapped. "I hate that term. Shouldn't we be enlightened enough to call it something else? Perhaps after Dr. Down, who classified it."

"I never claimed to be enlightened."

"Then be kind." Amy looked at the pretty girl and her wide smile. "Did Dr. Nowitzki have a daughter?"

"I don't think so. Although, she probably wouldn't want to tell anyone about that."

Flipping the photo over, Amy read in faint scrawl on the back. _Daphne._ Kripke had already taken the book away and had moved onto the fireplace. Unsure what do with the photograph, Amy tucked it into the small patch pocket of her jumper. She would find a way to return the photo to Ramona's family, but she'd keep it safe until then. Despite Kripke's response, someone must love this happy little girl.

Still angry at him, disgusted to be breathing the same air, she went to the window, lifting the sash to let in the fresh breeze. She was startled by what she saw. "Inspector, there's a balcony!"

She studied the narrow walkway, certainly not more than a meter wide. She recalled the front of the house; the shallow portico was flat without a pointed pediment, so this must be the top of it. After opening the window wider, she sat on the sash, pulled her legs up, and swung them over.

"What are you doing?"

"Seeing where it goes."

Amy stood on the stone edge, the wind blowing her hair in her face. No, it wasn't a true balcony; the carved frieze formed an edge that only went up to her knees. Although it was uneven, angling away from the house for drainage, it was wide enough to walk on if one were careful. Hanging onto the window frame for safety, she turned one way and then the other. The portico ran almost the entire front of the house, ending just before the last two windows on each end. Which explained why it wasn't visible from her window. Which also meant there was more than one bedroom along the front of the house that could be reached from here.

Something light and fluttering caught her eye further down and she put one foot in the front of the other, making sure her footing was solid before each step. Kripke's head was hanging out the window watching her now, but she didn't care. Several windows down, she crouched down to pick up the slender fragment.

"What is it?" he called.

"A piece of fabric."

"Some old rag picked up by the birds. Leave it; it's not important."

But it wasn't dirty or aged in the least. Not bothering to turn around, Amy slipped it into her pocket next to the photograph and returned to Ramona's window, her thumb rubbing against the scrap of lace.

No sooner had she shut the window behind her, then Kripke let out a low, long whistle. "Well, well, what do we have here?"

He stood by the nightstand, the jewelry case open before him and he held his discovery out to her. Amy stepped forward but then stopped short, emitting a squeak. She stared at the small pin in his hand and brought her palm to her chest. "Where - where did you find it? I already looked through the jewelry."

"It was at the bottom."

"But -"

Kripke misunderstood her confusion and said, "Don't worry, Fowler, I'm the copper and you're not. It's only reasonable I would find the important stuff. You won't get out of typing that easily."

"No, it's not that," Amy mumbled, still staring at the red circular pin he held out to her, the very center a sharp black swastika.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Large sigh here . . . let's talk about writing a historical story, especially as it relates to terms and opinions that should rightly appall us now._ **

**_To hear of a person with Down's syndrome called a mongoloid is disgusting. I hated using it and tried not to (ask my Beta). But, in truth, it was the accepted term for the those with the condition until the 1960s. There are no historically accurate alternatives. It is highly unlikely that even our enlightened and beloved Amy would have opposed the term, although I do like to think she would have opposed the degrading way Kripke used it._ **

**_In a similar vein, it is unlikely that Amy would have considered Ramona "a Nazi" until the end of this chapter, which is why the pin is such a shock to her. Unfortunately, Ramona's previously expressed political sympathies were not that uncommon in the mid-1930s Britain._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	7. Chapter 7

Finding nothing else nearly so explosive in Ramona's room, Kripke rang for Stuart and instructed him to keep the door and windows locked. He and Amy returned to the morning room. It had been re-arranged in their absence, with an extra chair drawn up and a large notepad and pencil were produced with a flourish by Kripke, as though he'd known the outcome of his order this morning all along. At least he was decent enough to ask Stuart for tea "for Fowler. And, of course, we'll have Cooper next."

When Stuart left, Amy asked, "Shouldn't we speak to Dr. Koothrappali first? It was he who discovered the body. Surely he'd have more to tell us."

"Nah, I have a hunch Cooper is the key."

Amy frowned. It annoyed her that he wanted to question Sheldon next. Rajesh was the more obvious choice, and she didn't understand why Kripke wouldn't proceed logically. But maybe this interview would reveal the answers to her questions about Sheldon and Kripke's past. And that could have nothing to do with Ramona's murder. And she wasn't in charge, she chided herself.

Surprisingly, Sheldon was still wearing his unusual combination of shirts when he arrived. It had been a strange choice in the privacy of his bedroom but it was almost scandalous here.

"Cooper."

"Kripke. And Miss Fowler." Amy lowered her eyes from his questioning eyebrow.

"She's going to take notes. Type them up for me. Save me some work."

"I presume, then, you've cleared her of the crime?" Sheldon sat down across the table, interlacing his fingers in front of him.

"Why? Do you think she did it?" Kripke asked.

"No, I don't."

"I'm right here, gentlemen," Amy murmured.

Kripke looked at her in surprise, but Sheldon nodded. "Of course," he said softly. Then, looking at Kripke, "Proceed with your questions."

"Let's start at the beginning. Why did you invite Dr. Nowitzki this weekend?"

"Strictly speaking, she invited herself."

Amy glanced up from her shorthand, surprised that such a thing was possible.

"But you were friendly," Kripke pressed.

"Again, not strictly. I dislike most people. But Dr. Nowitzki is a vocal supporter of my work. Professional admiration. We exchanged the occasional letter about physics. Often, she wrote in response to something I published, offering her assistance. Of course, I don't need anyone's assistance, but it was encouraging to read of my influence in the field. She found out from Koothrappali that I was hosting this meeting, and she wrote asking to come. She offered her services as a laboratory and general assistant, she even offered to organize the dinner seating."

Amy raised her eyebrows. So it was Ramona who had decided she was the most worthless guest here. Regardless, none of this sounded like the relationship Amy had witnessed. Sheldon's description was not the description of a vile woman, prone to delusional fantasies. "When did it change? When did your relationship sour?"

Sheldon's head swiveled sharply toward her. Amy, not meeting his gaze, glanced over at Kripke. "Right, just notes," she mumbled. So much for remaining an impartial viewer.

"No, no, go ahead, Fowler," Kripke said. "That's an excellent question. Cooper?"

"Alright. Of course. I have nothing to hide. I thought it was all professional admiration until she arrived on Monday. She'd come early to help me prepare. Penny and Leonard arrived the same day, but I hardly saw them because Dr. Nowitzki kept me so busy in my laboratory. She even had dinner brought to us there every night. Anyway, Penny pulled me aside on Thursday morning and informed me she thought Dr. Nowitzki had a romantic interest in me. At first, I didn't believe her, but that afternoon Dr. Nowitzki insisted on parading through the house in her bathing pajamas, begging me to swim in the pond. In this weather!" He shivered at the memory. "I confronted her, told her we were colleagues and that a romantic relationship would present a number of problems, and she didn't take it well."

"How?"

"Ramona accused Penny of holding me back due to her inferior intelligence. But she also accused Penny of preventing my interest in her." Sheldon cleared his throat. "She even confronted Penny about it; it was awkward to watch. I spent the rest of my time trying to avoid her. Fortunately, the remainder of the party began arriving the next day."

"Did you know she was a Nazi?" Kripke's bombshell had the desired effect. Sheldon physically jerked in response to the sudden question.

"What?"

Kripke smiled, clearly pleased with the shock he'd rendered, and took the pin out of his breast pocket and set it down in front of him. "Found it in her room."

Sheldon shook his head. "I knew from her comments she was . . . sympathetic to the German chancellor. It is, unfortunately, not an uncommon viewpoint, even here, in our enlightened nation. But, generally, I do not hold with political conversations in the house and silence them. So, no, I did not realize she felt so strongly, that she had a formal affiliation."

"If you had known, if you'd seen this pin, would you have sent her away?"

Amy's hand hovered above the page, awaiting his answer. She remembered how passionate he had been in the library, but he was not incorrect that many in Britain felt responsive toward Hitler and even joined Mosley's Union of Fascists. It was well and good to shut down political conversations, but at some point Sheldon would have to state his opinions openly.

"Yes," he affirmed with a strong nod, "absolutely."

Kripke pulled the pin back with a smile. "Very well. Tell me about the night of the murder. Start when we all went up to bed."

"Verbatim? I could, of course, with my eidetic memory. I'm the most reliable witness you have."

"Yes, yes, we've all heard enough about your memory." Kripke sounded bored. "Just the broad strokes; I'll ask for clarification if I need it."

"I read and went to bed. First, I was awoken by pounding and yelling in the hallway. It was Dr. Nowitzki and you, Miss Fowler. Dr. Nowitzki was convinced she saw someone outside her window, which was preposterous. Miss Fowler logically pointed out that the only person it could have been - if there even was someone, which I seriously doubt - was you, Inspector. Finally, I told her to return to bed, that she was disrupting the night."

"You accused her of making it up." Amy kept her eyes glued to her notepad after she spoke, but she could feel Sheldon's gaze on her.

"Yes, I did. And I believe she did. Just as she made up her romantic hopes for our relationship. Just as she made up Penny's jealousy."

"Go on. What next?"

"I fell back to sleep and then was awoken again by screaming. By the time I put on my dressing gown and slippers, everyone what running past my room. I joined them, and we found Dr. Nowitzki at the bottom of the stairs." He blanched. "The sight was quite shocking."

"Even though she had told you, not a few hours earlier, that someone was spying on her?"

Sheldon waved a hand. "No one was spying on her. What reason would they have? Besides, she said someone was outside her window, not that someone was spying on her. Two different things. There's a pond outside this window and I doubt it's carrying out any clandestine operations against us."

"One point of clarification: where were you during the time between the conversation with Miss Fowler and Dr. Nowitzki in the hallway and when you heard Dr. Koothrappali scream?"

"I told you, I was in my bedroom. Asleep."

"You never left?"

"No, of course not."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

Sighing deeply, Sheldon replied, "No more than anyone can confirm you were in your room, Inspector. Or Miss Fowler. We all sleep alone."

"Not Penny or Dr. Hofstadter," Amy pointed out.

Kripke nodded in her direction.

"They have separate bedrooms," Sheldon said. "They connect, but Penny prefers my mother's old room because it has the largest dressing room. So Leonard has my father's."

Amy's pencil paused for a second. Separate bedrooms? But, then, such a thing was common among the wealthy. Or so she'd been led to believe. And, of course, on her first night, she'd heard what sounded like a secret rendezvous, complete with a door shutting, which would have been unnecessary if the couple shared a bed already.

But that also meant that no one in the house an alibi.

"Didn't the gramophone keep you awake?" Amy asked.

Sheldon shook his head. "No. I heard it, of course, but I am accustomed to how loud Penny can be. I merely practiced some breathing exercises and slowed my heart rate to the beat of the song and I fell easily to sleep. I keep a tight schedule, and my body is accustomed to sleeping at that time."

While he'd been explaining, Kripke reached for his interior breast pocket and pulled out a small white bundle. He sat it on the table and unfolded the fabric, revealing the - thankfully clean - dagger that Amy had last seen in Dr. Nowitzki's chest. She shivered slightly, causing her to miss a word or two on her notes. Sheldon had stopped speaking, too, his eyes resting uneasily on the murder weapon. Amy realized why it looked familiar last night: it was the letter opener he'd used in the library.

"I take it you recognize this," Kripke said.

"Yes."

"This letter opener belongs to you?"

"It did."

"Where do you keep it?"

"I kept in the library, on my desk."

"And everyone has access to the library?" Sheldon nodded once. "The last time you saw it, before the murder, it was in the library?" Another nod, although Amy thought this was not so brisk. "Do you know who could have taken it out of the library?"

"Everyone had access to the library."

"One more question, Cooper. For now." Kripke leaned forward at the table as though this was the most important question of all. "If you didn't kill Dr. Nowitzki, then who did?"

"I hate to think that anyone here, anyone I invited is capable of such a thing. This meeting was supposed to be about scientists coming together for a common goal, not harming one another. If you have a professional disagreement with another's work, you do your own experiments and publish results to prove them wrong, publicly humiliate them. There's enough joy in that that it is completely unnecessary to kill them. It's much better if they're alive to experience the shame. But I cannot deny the evidence that she was murdered by someone in my house." Sheldon looked genuinely pained. "I briefly considered Dr. Rostenkowski because, frankly, she frightens me, but I wonder if she's too short. So I'm as lost in this matter as you are right now, Inspector."

"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm lost, Cooper. Not at all." And with that cryptic comment, Kripke sat back and waved his hand. "Dismissed, Cooper. Have the butler bring in Koothrappali."

* * *

Rajesh looked tired, with bags under his eyes. It was clear the poor man had not slept well after his ordeal. The collar of his shirt was wide open without his usual jaunty cravat, and the expanse of brown skin revealed a significant amount of black chest hair and a single pale but prominent line across the very bottom of his throat. A scar. Amy remembered Bert's story about his childhood mutism in India and she wondered what brutal surgery he'd undergone as an attempted cure. It was a wonder it hadn't caused far more damage than it was trying to treat.

Without asking, Amy poured him a cup of tea and added a generous amount of sugar. He took it with a weak smile.

"So, Koothrappali, you found the body?"

Amy frowned. Really, when would Kripke learn some tact? Not just calling people by their appropriate titles, but dealing with them gently when there was a reason for it, starting with something innocent and building up the gruesome bits.

"Um, yes. It was -" Rajesh stopped and stared into his tea.

"How did you come upon the body?"

"It - she - _she_ was just lying there, at the bottom of the stairs."

"No, I mean, why were you there? At three in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep so I had gotten up to go to the kitchen. I thought I'd make myself some warm milk."

"You were going to go to the kitchen?" Rajesh nodded. "Why not ring for a servant?"

"It was three in the morning. I'm sure they were all sleeping."

"So you came down the stairs and just saw her there?"

"Yes."

"Nothing or no one else?"

Rajesh shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't expect it, it startled me and, well, I sort of lost track of things."

"But the butler was there."

"Oh, yes, that's right. He, um, he just showed up. I was screaming, I think. Must have brought him up."

"Did either of you touch or move anything?"

"No, no, of course not. Wait. Maybe Stuart - Mr. Bloom - leaned over to see if she was breathing. But I knew - I could tell - I mean, it was right through her heart, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was. The perfect spot. A place that any scientist would know where to stab someone. The doctor informed me it was the ideal location, she would have died instantly."

Scribbling away on her notepad, Amy's raised an eyebrow slightly. She'd already considered that and was pleased her supposition was confirmed by a medical professional.

"But I'm an archaeoastromist. I don't -"

"But you have your doctorate, yes?" Kripke pressed. "You would have taken some kind of basic biology or anatomy course?"

"Well, yes."

Kripke grunted and flipped through his notebook. "Cooper says you invited Nowitzki here, is that correct?"

"I didn't invite her," Rajesh protested and Amy didn't blame him. That was not what Sheldon had said. "She came to one of my parties - it was a scavenger hunt - anyway, I knew she knew Sheldon, that they were both physicists and exchanged articles occasionally, so I asked if she was coming. I didn't really think about it, I guess I just assumed she'd be invited, but then it was clear she wasn't. Sheldon can be - well, particular - but he was gracious about it when I told him and he said he'd extend the invitation, if needed."

"How well do you know Lord Cooper?" Amy asked. Kripke snapped his head in her direction but didn't chastise her. The precedent had already been set for her asking the occasional question, she thought.

"Fairly well. He came to one of my shows a few years ago and then he invited me for the weekend. He comes to Cambridge occasionally for a big event and I generally meet him at the observatory and we take turns at the telescope-"

"Lord Cooper leaves the estate?" Amy asked. That was inconsistent with the rumors she'd heard.

Rajesh smiled slightly. "He's not a really a hermit, although he either doesn't know or doesn't mind people think that. He'll come to Cambridge for a scientific event or other business. But it is true I usually come here at the weekends. It's quiet and Sheldon is a generous host. We talk about science and, especially, if Leonard is in town, we do experiments. We both like to read science fiction. He has a projector and sometimes we get reels to watch, like _Frankenstein_ or _The Invisible Man_. I try out all my new shows and lectures on him, he likes to critique them. As I said, he can be particular, too much so, but I use about every fifth suggestion or so of his."

Amy tried to imagine this quiet life of scholarly leisure. Of course, Rajesh was a professor during the term, but it seemed like there was a great deal of time to relax with his hobbies. It sounded heavenly.

"Does Cooper ever come to your parties?"

"No. I always invite him, but he doesn't like parties, he says."

"How well did you know Dr. Nowitzki?" Amy asked. "You said she came to your parties."

"Only one or two. I don't invite her every time, either. She can be a bit intense. I met her at a social they held for me when I gave a show up at Oxford. She came up to me, asked me if I knew Dr. Cooper. I thought she was a little obsessed with his work, she always wants - wanted - to talk to me nonstop about him."

"So you didn't care for her?" Kripke asked.

Rajesh bit his lip. "Not really," he admitted. "I thought she was pushy. But that doesn't mean I would kill her," he added in a rush.

Kripke said, "Did Cooper care for her?"

"I don't know." Rajesh shrugged. "As I said, I knew they wrote but this is the first time I've ever seen them together. I think he was frustrated with her, for getting off topic when he wanted to talk about science."

"Did you know any of the other guests before this weekend?" Kripke asked.

Rajesh replied, "Penny is here with Leonard, so yes. But not Dr. Rostenkowski or Mr. Wolowitz. Or you, Miss Fowler." A tip of his head in her direction. "Although I've read many of Mr. Wolowitz's stories and I was looking forward to meeting him."

"And the Frenchie," Kripke said.

Amy huffed, "His name is M. Kibbler. And they do know each other. He told me at dinner."

"Oh, yes," Rajesh smiled over at her. "Bert and I have known each other for a while now. Sometimes I need his geology expertise for a show, and that's one thing I'm not likely to get from Sheldon."

Asking another question, Amy said, "M. Kibbler told me you've been to Germany, to work on a new type of planetarium. Did you meet Dr. Rostenkowski there?"

Shaking his head, Rajesh said, "No. I was only at Zeiss; I wanted to see what it would take to get a planetarium built in Cambridge. But it doesn't seem likely to happen; we don't even have a real astronomical association yet."

Kripke cleared his throat. "Let's revisit the day of the murder. Did you go into the library at any time? Remove anything from there?"

"No. Why?"

"Did you see anyone else go into the library?"

"All day?" Rajesh looked up as he considered. "Well, I know Sheldon uses it a lot in general, but I can't say for sure yesterday. Is that where he and Leonard were before dinner? And M. Kibbler mentioned something about wanting to use the telephone in there. Sorry, I don't really remember the details. I wasn't interested."

He seemed to be telling the truth, Amy thought, and Kripke must have thought so too because he changed topics slightly. "Tell about your night, after we all went up to bed."

"Well, as I said, I couldn't sleep. I tried to read, it didn't help. Oh! I thought I heard yelling once, in the distance, but it didn't last long. It was after eleven, I looked at the clock. Other than that, nothing. I couldn't sleep as I said."

"You didn't hear anything else unusual or loud at all?" Amy clarified.

"No."

It wasn't shorthand, but Amy made a small tick mark on the edge of the line when she wrote down his answer.

"So you were alone in bed?"

"Of course. Where else would I be?"

"You decided to get up, go down to the basement, in a large country house with many servants, find the kitchen, and use a giant range used to prepare banquets to heat a cup of milk?"

Amy glanced over at Kripke. She hated to admit it, but the Inspector had a point. Amy wouldn't know the first thing about how or where to obtain a drink in the middle of the night here unless she rang the bell for a servant.

"As I said, I didn't want to bother anyone."

Although, Rajesh was a frequent guest in this house; perhaps he'd made himself at home here.

"On more thing." Kripke removed the Nazi pin again, although this time Amy felt it was done with less flourish. "This was hers, found in her room. Did you know she was a Nazi?"

Rajesh's eyes widened. "No, no, not at all. Does Sheldon know?"

"Interesting question. Why do you ask?"

"I don't think he'd have her as a guest if he knew. He doesn't talk about it, but, well, he invited Mr. Wolowitz, didn't he? So, well, he couldn't . . . I just think he wouldn't risk the confrontation. He hates politics. Blames his brother's death on them."

Once again, the pin was slipped away. "Yes, you've been very helpful, Koothrappali. That's all I have for now. You can go. But don't leave the estate. And I may have more questions later," Kripke said, closing his notebook. It seemed that Rajesh could not leave the room quickly enough.

As he stood, Kripke said, "Well, Fowler, you can go, too. I'm heading back to the station. I should check in there."

Her head snapped to look at him. "But we have several more people to interview."

"All in good time. I don't want to rush it. Type up what we've got so far. Write your little article."

In the excitement, Amy had almost forgotten about her article. "And what shall I say? You promised me a statement."

"Starting interviewing witnesses, several promising leads, murder weapon from inside the house. Oh, what was it you said this morning? Crime of passion? Yeah, you can use that. Catchy. It sounds good coming from me, doesn't it?"

He started walking toward the door of the morning room.

"Wait!" Amy ran to catch up with him. "What about everyone in their rooms?"

"Tell the butler they can come out," Kripke called without turning as he walked down the hall. "Tomorrow, nine o'clock sharp, Fowler."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**The British Union of Fascists was a far-right political party formed in 1932 by Sir Oswald Mosley. Initially, it was popular in Britain reaching its peak memberships in 1933 and 1934, when the party also started becoming more anti-semitic and pro-Nazi. Support for the party decreased (but never disappeared) in the late 1930s as the group turned increasingly violent. The party was banned and Mosley was imprisoned in 1940, after the start of World War II.** _

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	8. Chapter 8

It was later than Amy thought, almost one, so lunches had been prepared on trays. By the time Stuart answered her ring, they were already on their way upstairs. Stuart promised that he would go to each room and let the guests know they were free to leave their rooms but not the estate. Amy, too, returned to her room to eat and type up the interview transcripts in duplicate, trying her best to keep crumbs off the new machine. She only paused during a certain set of questions, carefully checking her markings to confirm something was said how she remembered.

The two items from her cardigan pocket were placed in a desk drawer along with the typed transcripts because she couldn't help but think of them as clues even if it seemed Kripke didn't. Since she had a question for Sheldon anyway, she would also ask him about a key.

That task completed, she turned her attention to the article. Crime reporting was not her forte, but she was determined to write the best article she could. It was not easy given the limited information, but there was no way she was just going to pass along the facts to some ham-fisted junior man at the _Herald_. Or worse, Mr. Clayton would try to send another reporter which she suspected would not go over well with Sheldon.

She cringed when she typed Kripke's supposed quotation about a crime of passion. Both because he choose it because he thought he was stealing it from her and because he didn't even have the intelligence to steal it correctly. She'd said it was a crime of opportunity, not passion. Both could be true, of course, but they were not the same thing.

Her meal and typing finished, Amy went back downstairs in search of Sheldon. Soft classical music and the low murmur of voices spilled out of the drawing room. She did not imagine that he was in there, not from what little she knew of him. But she went to look anyway and found a foursome composed of Penny, Leonard, Rajesh, and Bert playing bridge. Howard and Bernadette were on opposite ends of a sofa, each with a book, ignoring each other.

"Amy!" Penny called to her. "Do you play? We'll do a swap."

"Or Mr. Bloom could make up another four," Rajesh suggested. "He plays."

Although not boisterous by any means, it seemed that no one was mourning Ramona's untimely demise. Amy said, "I do, a little, but no thank you. Maybe later. Has anyone seen Lord Cooper?"

"He's in the library," Leonard answered.

"Good. I need a novel." Not a lie, but not the whole truth, either.

"Be careful. He's in a bad mood," Penny warned her. "Almost nothing makes him more cranky than having his plans go awry."

Leonard looked up with a smile. "Don't let him put you in tears."

"I am _not_ a hothouse flower," Amy protested tersely.

"It's not an insult. I can't tell you how many times I cried over my decision to chat with him." Penny chuckled at her husband's quip. "Good luck."

Amy headed for the library. She knocked softly on the door, to give Sheldon a warning about her arrival.

"Come."

She closed the door behind her and approached the desk where he sat. "Lord Cooper, I'm sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to ask if there is a key for the desk in my room. So I can lock up the notes before turning them over to Inspector Kripke. Or maybe the door?"

He looked up from the work he was doing, something involving a large leather ledger. "Yes, of course. I'll have Mr. Bloom see to it."

"And, if I may, I'd like to use the telephone every day, just one call to the _Herald_ to relay my story. I need to call it in, to make the deadline."

Sheldon nodded. "You may use this phone whenever you wish, Miss Fowler. The only other telephones are in my bedroom and Mr. Bloom's office. Although I have promised it to M. Kibbler every evening before dinner so that he may call home."

"All the way to Paris?" Amy asked, in shock at the expense.

"Indeed." He returned to his ledger, as though such extravagances were a part of his daily life. Which, Amy considered further, they probably were.

"Thank you. I'll just grab a book."

Amy went to a shelf and ran her hands along the spines without reading them, glancing over at Sheldon's handsome profile. He was still wearing his jersey shirts. Was that his usual choice of casual clothing? She picked up a book at random, allowed it to open itself to a page, and passed her eyes over the text about koalas - she doubled back to read the paragraph more clearly to be certain - before she peered over the top, watching him again.

"Miss Fowler, if you have something else to say, please just do so," Sheldon murmured from where his head was still bent over his work.

The book fumbled in her hand, and Amy's cheeked flushed as she returned it to its place on the shelf, realizing it was the K volume of the _Encyclopædia Britannica._

"Fine." She crossed to the desk and stood before it, her heart thumping. "You lied to the inspector."

"I do not lie, Miss Fowler." He didn't bother to look up in surprise, as though someone walked into his library and accused him of lying on a regular basis. "My mother raised me better than that. And I've been told I'm especially bad at it."

"Inspector Kripke asked you about the letter opener in present tense. You answered in past tense. And you side-stepped his last question on a technicality. You are too careful in your speech, Lord Cooper, to have made such errors without forethought."

Sheldon sighed, putting down his pencil before finally looking up, and he waved to the chair in front of him. Amy sat before she realized it was the same thing they had done the prior morning, under completely different circumstances.

"I did not lie. I answered Kripke's questions honestly. As I said to him, strictly speaking. But it is true I left some details out." He paused and Amy concentrated on not blinking, so there would be no reprieve from the disapproving look she was giving him. "The dagger was here, in my library, past tense. It was not, however, yesterday evening."

Amy gasped. She had caught his mistake, yes, and knew he wasn't being completely honest, but she hadn't expected this. "Where was it?"

"I don't know. It didn't belong to me at that moment, not anymore. Yet another reason for past tense."

"It would save us a great deal of time if you'd just tell me the story instead of requiring me to pull it out of you."

"'Us' or 'me,' Miss Fowler? Did Kripke put you up to this?"

"No," Amy admitted. She wanted to tell Sheldon that Kripke already seemed certain that he knew who the murderer was, that he talked about multiple leads where she saw few, that he seemed disinterested in anything that might be a clue if it did not match his preconceived notion of the crime. "As you probably know, he went back to the station. He didn't give me any instructions."

"Alright. I'll answer _you_. Leonard should have had the letter opener but he misplaced it." He paused and Amy thought she'd have to ask another question but then he continued. "At university, Leonard and I bought the dagger - it wasn't sold as a letter opener - because it's a replica of the sword Beowulf used to kill Grendel's Mother, the Hrunting. It was sort of a mascot for our flat. When he moved back to California, we made an agreement that each of us would keep it for one year and then the other. It was his turn. We went to the library before dinner last night and I gave it to him. He walked out with it in his hand. It was the last time I saw it, until - well, until. Then, as we were going up to bed, he pulled me aside and told me he'd misplaced it. That he was certain he sat it down on a table in the drawing room but that it had disappeared. That, Miss Fowler, is the whole truth."

"Why didn't you tell Inspector Kripke this?"

"Because it doesn't change anything. Everyone was in the drawing room before and after dinner. Anyone could have taken it, just as they could have from the library."

"And you didn't want to implicate Dr. Hofstadter. Your best friend."

"Nothing is implicating him. Anyone could have picked it up."

"Except we only have Dr. Hofstadter's word that he lost it."

"Leonard's word is as good as mine, Miss Fowler."

"Honestly, I'm not sure how good your word is."

Sheldon's jaw dropped slightly, just as writers always described such a thing.

"I'm sorry," Amy said. "I should not have said that."

"But you were thinking it. Because I did not volunteer these details to Kripke."

"Yes." She did not add that when it came to Lord Sheldon Cooper, she had more questions and, if she dared to admit it, mixed emotions than made her comfortable. He somehow always managed to tip her ever so slightly off-balance, his tone shifting from one conversation to the next. There always seemed to be things left unsaid, undiscovered. And, yet, she enjoyed her limited conversations with him. He treated her as an equal, he seemed to respect her opinions, and she enjoyed his viewpoints on the few topics they had already discussed.

Sheldon tapped his fingertips against his lips, gently rolling them from one to the next. Amy had to look away. "Let me make an assumption. You believe you should not discuss the case with me because I am suspect."

"Yes."

"And yet, you find that you would like to work through your thoughts with someone as intelligent as you are, that such vocal examination of the clues might prove to be beneficial to you?"

Damn. He had read her like one of his periodicals. Amy didn't answer; there was no need.

"As I see it, you have three options," he continued.

"Three?"

"One, you treat me as though I am guilty and you tell me nothing. You accept that as the truth and refuse to engage in any unnecessary conversation with me."

"Probably the most lawful," Amy said.

Sheldon tilted his head in agreement before continuing. "Option two, and let's give this a frivolous name - oh! I know! the American approach! - you presume I am innocent. You seek out my counsel, you tell me everything you have learned, and you share all your theories."

"Seems imprudent."

Another tip of his head. "Third option: Schrödinger's cat."

Amy wrinkled her brow. "What?"

"I just read it; it's a brand new thought experiment that illustrates the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics. Essentially, something exists in two states simultaneously because the truth is not yet known. Schrödinger suggests there is a cat in a box that is either alive or dead, but there is no way to know for sure until the box is opened. So you must proceed as if both are simultaneously true. In physics, quantum superposition. In this situation, I am both guilty _and_ innocent until proven one way or the other."

"And how would I do that?"

"As with all things, you use the scientific method. You make an initial hypothesis and you test it. Then you change your tactics based upon the results of the first test and make a new hypothesis. You question, you assume nothing, you learn, you adapt, and then you arrive at the truth."

"But if I make a hypothesis that you are either guilty or innocent, isn't that the same as the first two methods?"

Sheldon shook his head. "The beauty of the universe is the atoms, Miss Fowler. The minutia. You cannot see the big picture yet, because, if you could, you would already know the answer. You choose one small thing and you hypothesize about it."

"Like a crossword puzzle," Amy brightened. "There is always an overall theme, but it is impossible to determine from a single clue. So you solve a single clue, confirming it fits, and then you move on, building upon the letters you have."

"Exactly. So what is one thing you know for sure about the murder, something that cannot be denied?"

"Dr. Nowitzki was murdered in your house," Amy tossed out. "She was downstairs. She was murdered with the letter opener. She was still in her evening gown."

"Pick one and question it. The last you said: why was Dr. Nowitzki still in her evening gown?"

She hadn't considered that. "Because she couldn't sleep. No, then she'd be in her nightclothes, like Dr. Koothrappali. So she hadn't gone to bed at all yet, despite the hour."

"Why?"

"She thought someone was outside her window. She was listening to music." Amy sat up straighter. "Because she was meeting someone downstairs!"

Sheldon lips twitched. "I would tell you it wasn't me, but that defeats the exercise."

Amy grinned at first then her smile fell. "Although, of course, my answer could be wrong and I might only realize it when I try to place another word in the puzzle. After all, I have nothing to support that theory."

"True. But it is a theory. All hypotheses start with one."

There was a pause and Amy sat back into the desk chair, relaxing into their conversation. "Can I change the topic a bit, ask you another question? The Inspector said you hired him to come here and provide security. For Penny, he said. But, if I'm being honest -"

"I think we've established you generally always are."

"- it doesn't seem like much security. He leaves during the day - even after this murder - and, as far as I know, he only does a single round at night. He admitted to me it wasn't much of a job. And Penny's been a guest several times in the past. Why hire him now?"

"Leonard suggested it because some of the guests I'd never met before. And safety follows just after hygiene in my book, so I agreed. We felt it would be safer just to have a policeman present, to dissuade stealing. No, his duties were not great, but we didn't think we'd ever need them to be." Sheldon raised a hand to his forehead. "I cannot tell you how it pains me to discover I was wrong. Everything I said to you in here yesterday was true, my fears for the future of science. But I did not fear for the scientists in my house. Logically, as I am innocent - I know that even if you cannot yet accept it - I know I am not at fault. But I cannot help but feel responsible in some manner. Guilt and shame over my actions are not experiences to which I am accustomed."

"I think that's natural. Healthy, even," Amy spoke softly. "I did not know Dr. Nowitzki nor did she make a good first impression, but I keep thinking I should have gone to her room with her, looked out her window to allay her fears if nothing else."

Sheldon looked at her across the desk and then he lowered his eyes. "Yes," he whispered, "that, too."

Clearing her throat, Amy changed the subject, "You mentioned you wanted to dissuade stealing. What did you think would be stolen? Art? Vases?"

The relief in his shoulders was evident; this was a man that managed facts and ideas better than emotions, Amy realized. "Sharing general scientific theories and goals is one thing, stealing patents and trade secrets is another. Leonard also suggested a confidentiality agreement, and I immediately saw how wise that would be."

"Confidentiality agreement? Oh, yes, the meetings are secret, I know."

"More than that. Everyone in them was asked to sign a contract agreeing not to disclose or use another person's intelligential property that they may learn. It's a new idea for this type of thing, I believe it comes from maritime law."

Shifting in her chair, Amy pondered the implications of this. Not the notion of protecting one's intelligential property, but the change in the collective mood the day before. "What if something was revealed in the meeting that is necessary for solving this murder?"

"There is a clause that any illegal activities are not covered and must be reported to the authorities."

"But what if something isn't illegal, per se, just important." She wavered slightly and then added, "I couldn't help but notice everyone seemed tense yesterday evening. Did something happen in the laboratory? Was something said?"

"I'm not good at picking up on the emotions involved, but I did have to silence more than one political conversation. Mr. Wolowitz refused to sit by Dr. Nowitzki and instead sat by Dr. Rostenkowski, which surprised me as she's German and, well, I know you read the papers. But this was after one political disagreement, and Dr. Rostenkowski had agreed with him, so there is some hope for Germany yet." He pursed his lips. "But everything seems different now that Kripke found that pin."

"You really had no idea about the full extent of Dr. Nowitzki's political leanings? You said she talked to you all time."

Sheldon shook his head. "Only about science. And via letter. She was constantly pushing me to work harder, faster, to focus all my energy on my studies and experiments, so it seems hypocritical that she took the time for such strong political views herself." He sighed. "I have not hidden, Miss Fowler, that Dr. Nowitzki and I did not see eye-to-eye on the parameters of our relationship, and, thanks to Penny's explanation, I see how she was trying to manipulate me as though I were a toy for her enjoyment. And I have been told I often miss the subtleties of sarcasm and body language. But I honestly did not think she was capable of something that disgusting."

"Well, I assume she was hiding it from you."

"Yes."

Amy could tell the topic weighed upon him, with good reason. However, she could not think of anything else to be said, to lighten his burden, so she returned to her first question. "But everything else in the laboratory went according to plan?"

"Yes. Oh, only that M. Kibbler lost something out of his pocket and he was convinced someone there had stolen it."

Amy leaned forward. "What?"

"I didn't pay attention. I gathered it was something personal because he was so vague about what exactly it was. But it was a frivolous interruption and I did not appreciate it."

This new information did something Kripke had not managed to accomplish all day. Amy spoke slowly as she thought aloud, "Let me confirm this. You disliked Dr. Nowitzki because you felt she was trying to force you into a romantic relationship. Dr. Koothrappali admitted she was pushy, as well. One presumes that Penny did not like her, otherwise she would not have warned you off of her, although we're not entirely sure why. I think it's reasonable to assume that Dr. Hofstadter did not care for her, either, because he clearly adores everything Penny does. Mr. Wolowitz refused to sit by her, so there was resentment there. Dr. Rostenkowski argued with her about politics over dinner. And she sided with Mr. Wolowitz in another political argument. It's possible they had ascertained the full extent of her Nazi sympathy. And M. Kibbler . . . well, it seems he was upset with everyone over this possible theft."

"Yes, I believe you are correct."

"What we are saying, Lord Cooper, is that every single scientist in this house has a motive."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Encyclopædia Britannica was first published in 1768, making it the oldest English-language encyclopedia in existence. Needless to say, it is now primarily an online resource._ **

**_Schrödinger's cat, the famous physics thought experiment, was devised by Erwin Schrödinger in 1935, so it was brand-new at the time of this story._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	9. Chapter 9

Amy's revelatory statement cast a pall over their conversation, and Sheldon used the excuse of her phone call to leave her alone. After dictating her article, Amy left the library, her mind still churning over her realization.

She stood in the doorway of the drawing room, watching unnoticed. Sheldon wasn't there but everyone else remained. Another foursome was at bridge and a different program was on the wireless, but the general air of quiet indifference prevailed. Any of them could be a killer, yet they all seemed unworried. None of them were sorry to see Ramona dispatched, except on principle that murder was a crime.

Which one of them was lying?

Speaking of lying, something else said this morning had been bothering Amy ever since, and she decided to find the answer herself. She turned away and crossed the hall into the dining room. The curtains were drawn and it was not yet laid for dinner. She headed behind the screen shielding a serving table from view, slipped down the plain passageway just as Stuart had described it, and opened the green baize door she found there. A set of simple stairs greeted her, and, at the bottom, she found herself in a new world.

Having only read about the world of servants and never having experienced it, Amy did not know entirely what to expect. The hallway she found herself in was both wider and brighter than she imagined for a warren of rooms in the basement. It was empty, but there were several people in the kitchen she spied through a large cased opening. It was a flurry of activity and steam; of course, preparations must be underway for tea and the dinner that would follow. She should have considered the timing of her visit, instead of making an impromptu choice.

"May I help you, Miss? I think you're lost."

Amy turned to see an elderly woman, wrapped in a heavy shawl. "Um, no, I'm not lost. I was hoping to speak to Mr. Bloom."

"Mr. Bloom is in the pantry, Miss, polishing for dinner."

"Of course. Indeed. I, um, just wanted some milk. Some warm milk, if I may."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "It isn't done for you to be down here, Miss. Head back upstairs, if you please, and someone will be with you right quick. Next time just ring the bell."

"I apologize. You see, I've never been in a house with servants before, and I'm not certain of the protocol." A half-truth. "I hate to bother anyone. I thought I could just make it myself."

"No, it won't do, Miss. His Lordship is very strict, Miss. No one comes into the kitchen but the staff. It isn't for your kind." But the woman's eye appraised Amy's figure, and she was grateful she was wearing her everyday clothes, not any new finery. "Did you make your jumper yourself? And did you knit the skirt, as well? I've not seen that before."

"I did." Amy smiled and rubbed her waist. Matching jumpers and skirts were very popular last year and she'd spent weeks making her own version. "The cable is a bit wonky here, you can see. I miscounted, but it was too far gone to pull it all out."

There was a pause as Amy felt she was being graded for a test. Then the woman smiled and said, "Brenda Sparks, Miss, housekeeper. Well, you're here now. Come into the office, out of the way."

With a breath of relief, Amy followed behind the housekeeper into a room containing a desk at each end and a compact but cozy seating area for two in front of a small unlit stove. Despite being in the basement, there were two windows on the upper half of the wall, even with the ground outside, but large enough to let in a surprising amount of sun.

"I'll get your milk."

Mrs. Sparks left and Amy studied the room further. There was a charcoal drawing framed above the stove, a soft but very fine rendering of Medford Hall. Amy leaned in to study it, noticing that even the smallest details of the stone carving had been rendered with excellent skill. On the opposite wall, near the door, was a large board covered in papers tacked into a neat grid. Moving to inspect them, she realized they were schedules. Not just of staff, but also of tasks and even rooms. Two pages were entitled "Shuttered" at the top in small but precise print; underneath was a list of rooms with a date next to each, although one had been crossed out.

"His Lordship's work," Mrs. Sparks said as she returned. "He's very particular, he is, about the cleaning. Wants everything neat as a pin, although we only clean the shuttered rooms twice a year now."

Amy took the offered mug of warm milk and sipped it even though it was not her favorite. But she knew the success of any ruse was commitment. "Thank you. I apologize again. Dr. Koothrappali mentioned something about coming down to the kitchen but I must have misunderstood him."

"Dr. Koothrappali? No, no, he's never been down. Like I said, it wouldn't be right."

"Oh, should I leave? Will you get in trouble? You said Lord Cooper is strict."

"Finish your milk, Miss. Here, come sit with me."

It was too hot with the woolen clothes and the enclosed space and the warm milk, but Amy complied anyway. Mrs. Sparks sat in an old rocking chair and took up a knitting bag. Amy smiled as she settled into an outdated but comfortable chair across.

"His Lordship, Miss, _is_ strict like I said, but he's a fair man. Generous, even." Amy started to reply, but Mrs. Sparks kept talking and knitting. "Had all our bedrooms moved down here a few years ago, ripped the whole place down here apart. He said it would be easier to heat and cooler in the summer, and it is. Bigger windows, even a bath between every two. Radiators of our own. All sorts of new things in the kitchen. Never heard of such, but he said it was cleaner, less work. Found out how bad the pain in my bones was, Miss, had the doctor call. Took me off the cleaning upstairs. Even my Billy, he never was good for the house, I thought for sure his Lordship would turn him out when he returned for good, but no, asked him if he'd like to be outside. Billy never been so happy, with the chickens and pigs."

"I didn't realize Lord Cooper raised animals."

"For eggs and meat. Can't see them from here. Of course, it's much smaller than it was in His Lordship's father's day. Just enough for the house now." Mrs. Sparks sighed. "Ah, that you could have seen it back when Her Ladyship was a bride! I was just a maid then. The house was so busy, so many more working than now, all the rooms open with fresh flowers. Grand parties and hunts. No hunts now, not at all. His Lordship don't hold with killing animals for sport, he says, only the food we need. But, my, what a beauty Her Ladyship was, even with her funny way of talking."

"Lord Cooper's mother?" Amy asked. "She was American, yes?"

"Aye. At first, I didn't care for her. Always carrying on about The Lord, like He was a footman she talked to every day over breakfast." Her voice changed in mimicry, "'I asked Jesus to bring me this, maybe Jesus will arrange that.' I didn't like the way religion made her a bit uppity. Charity should be silent and private in my book, but she said The Lord - and the whole village, it seemed - needed to see her works. Too strict, I thought, with the young 'uns in love. But she was a good woman, I came to see." Mrs. Sparks leaned closer in her rocking chair and whispered. "Old Lordship, Miss, he took a bit too much to the drink. And some say the ladies." She sat back. "Her Ladyship, though, she held her head high, always. Never saw a woman care as much for her children as she did. And Master Georgie, God rest his soul, he was a beautiful child."

"Lord Cooper's older brother?"

Mrs. Sparks nodded. "Her Ladyship was up in the nursery all the time. Wasn't seemly, not for a woman like her, I knew. Everyone said it was on account of her being American. Funny ideas, they have. And then the twins: Master Shelly, she called him and so did we, and Missy. It was a happy house at first, but then . . . well."

Amy sipped more of her milk and listened to the creaking of the rocking chair. She suspected that Mrs. Sparks liked to gossip, that she wanted to relate this story and Amy just had to wait, to give her time and space to tell it. And so she did.

"Master Shelly, Miss, he was a difficult child. We all thought he was touched in the head. Never seen tantrums like that in my life, so much rage in a little one. He'd rip his clothes off because he said they scratched, cry at the slightest noise, spin and spin in the hall for no reason. Then he started reading and at least the tantrums stopped. Reading, Miss, even without a governess and so young! He was always telling you what you were doing wrong, what you said that was wrong. People told Her Ladyship to send him away, that he was too difficult. He upset people with that queer way he had of studying them, pointing out all the faults, even ones you thought only you knew. But Her Ladyship wouldn't hear of it. Worked herself to the bone, making him mind, teaching him the piano herself, even. Couldn't get a governess to stay, you see. Even tried the village school though no one ever heard of a Master going there, but the teacher wouldn't have him. Too many questions, he said. Not until Dr. Sturgis."

"Dr. Sturgis?" By now Amy had leaned forward in her chair, eager for more details.

"Scientist, he was. Not a tutor, but he became one, just for Master Shelly. His Ladyship had a building built, just for them. Don't understand it all, but lots of experiments, they called them. My Billy was his age, and they didn't care for each other much, but they sometimes let him watch what they was up to. And then, still a boy, Dr. Sturgis drove him over to Cambridge. Went to classes there, with everyone older than him. Strange way of doing things to my mind, Miss, but it worked.

"His old Lordship, he died not long after. It was a dark time. Master Georgie not yet of age but the heir still. Her Ladyship kept the estate on and Master Shelly even did the figures for her. Not the usual way, but we got by, just waiting for Master Georgie. Not as book smart as Master Shelly, anyone could see that, but he was his father's son. Popular, bright, handsome, good at sport. Everything a lord should be. And then came the war."

"Then came the war," Amy repeated. She had been a child but she remembered rationing food and rolling bandages with her mother. Her father, at least, wasn't sent to the front; he was given a desk job.

"At first, Master Georgie was too young to go and we thought it'd all be over. But he was itching, Miss, wanted to go so bad. Prove he was a man. Left against Her Ladyship's wishes. Always liked automobiles, he did. Took a job as a mechanic, even though he should have been an officer. An ambulance broke down, he said, the tire blew out, he went to fix it. But the bombs and the gas came." The housekeeper paused again, letting the horror unfold in the creaks of her rocking chair. "He weren't ever the same, Miss. Burned, coughing up blood, the tremor in his hands, and the nightmares - oh, Miss, the nightmares! After Cambridge, Master Shelly left for Oxford, living with Dr. Hofstadter, so Her Ladyship worked herself to the bone again. Wouldn't let anyone else nurse him, just like when he was a baby. It took years, Miss, but it was a relief to have him pass. Tweren't nothing on Earth for him anymore." Mrs. Sparks reached up to brush a tear out of her eye.

"Master Shelly - His Lordship he now was - came back after Oxford. Saw everything with new eyes, I think. Set about ordering repairs, shuttered all those empty rooms, said they were a waste of money. Put away the silver. Sold the horses. Had a man come out and teach the tenet farmers how to do new ways, like they hadn't been farming for years. 'Modern' he said, 'streamlined, science.' Never heard such a thing in my life. He changed everything, and, I won't lie, we didn't like it at first. Some here in service, they left. But I saw my Billy was happy now, working with the animals. With fewer rooms, the work was lighter. The tenant farmers, after they grumbled, brought in better crops. Sold livestock at a higher price. So many great houses around us closing up, selling off. But not Medford Hall, Miss. Lord Cooper, he saved this place. I'm just sorry his mother didn't live to see it."

"When did she pass?"

"Not long after His Lordship returned. Missy, she was off and married, lives with her boys down Plymouth way. His Lordship was heart-broken over his mother, Miss, but he poured it all back into the estate. Who would have ever thought that loud little lad would grow up to be such a silent and solidarity man? Glad for Dr. Koothrappali and Dr. Hofstadter, I am. If it weren't for them, no one would come at all. And Miss Penny! It's nice to hear a woman's laugh from time to time. Too quiet around here now." Again, Mrs. Sparks leaned forward to whisper something, "Done left my hopes for a new ladyship by the wayside. His Lordship is a fair man, but a difficult one. It'd take a strong woman, a special woman to accept him. Good thing he's got his sister's boys, so it all stays in the family."

"But there's a house party this weekend," Amy pointed out.

"Aye! Makes me glad, Miss, opening up the bedrooms, getting out the silver. We even had to hire in a whole passel from the village, to clean and serve. The house is busy again, like when I started. Makes my heart happy."

Now it was Amy's turn to lower her voice. "I suppose you heard, then, about Dr. Nowitzki?

"Oh, such a terrible thing! It'll blacken the house again, mark my words. This will be the last house party, I fear."

"I assume the screaming must have terribly frightening. It's a good thing you didn't have to come up, that you didn't see anything."

"Oh, Miss, we didn't hear anything down here. Slept right through it. Mr. Bloom it was who told us later."

Amy squeezed her empty cup. "You didn't hear the screaming?"

"Oh, no. Never hear anything upstairs since His Lordship went and had insulation in the walls. Glad I didn't, not this time."

"Who made the tea, then? There was tea in the drawing room, just after."

"Mr. Bloom, I suppose. He's restless at night, often up and about. He sometimes makes tea for himself. I tell him that if he wouldn't drink so much tea, he'd sleep better, but he just shrugs."

Amy exhaled deeply. She'd come downstairs to learn the truth of one tiny thing but had instead discovered several more unanswerable questions. Mrs. Sparks kept knitting along peacefully, and there seemed to be no artifice in her answers. Plus, she clearly was not the type of woman to keep a secret. "Did you meet her, Dr. Nowitzki?"

"Oh, no, Miss, I never go upstairs now. My knees won't take it. If His Lordship needs me, he comes down, he does. Sits right there and drinks tea with me." She looked up sharply. "He's the only one, mind. But, well . . . no, I hate to speak ill of the dead."

"Mrs. Sparks, I think that's a very kind thing to say, but she was murdered. If there is anything, any small thing you know, I think you should tell the Inspector. I can bring him down here tomorrow if you like."

"That won't be necessary. Just a bit of downstairs gossip, Miss. She was rude to the maid, that's all. Asked about the guests and His Lordship, but Lucy, she's a good one, she wouldn't tell. The lady doctor didn't take it well."

Amy pondered this piece of information, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair and tapping her chin with her forefinger as did so. Mrs. Sparks chuckled. "His Lordship does that, too, Miss, when he thinks. Funny to see two people with the same habit."

She quickly lowered her arm. "You said that Lord Cooper hired new staff for the weekend. Do you think any of them could have murdered Dr. Nowitzki?"

"Of course not!" The older woman looked genuinely affronted by the suggestion. "They're all good people from the village. We know our place down here, Miss, and it's not up there. Whatever evil was up there in the drawing room, Miss, it was born there."

Despite the heat of the room and the warm milk, Amy shivered. What a dark statement. But she forced a smile and stood. "I don't want to impose any further on your time. But our conversation was very enlightening. I must say you've shown me another side to Lord Cooper; he sounds almost saintly."

Mrs. Sparks cackled at that. "Oh, don't say I led you astray, Miss! His Lordship is fair, yes, but he can still be that little boy throwing tantrums. There's only one way to do things to his mind, and, oh!, too many have learned down here not to cross him. You have to mind your P's and Q's around him, you know. He can be a hard man; I wish someone would come and soften him up. Dr. Hofstadter and Penny, they try, but what that man needs is a woman who will challenge him. One good fight with the right woman, I think, and he'd be a changed man. Provided she wins, that is."

The idea of such a person made Mrs. Sparks laugh harder, and Amy couldn't help but smile. Then there was a commotion in the hallway and Amy heard someone yell something about tea, and she realized she needed to leave. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Sparks, for the milk and the conversation."

"Of course, dear. Enjoy the house, Miss. So many beautiful rooms, even with the dust covers."

"I will. It is lovely."

Just as she was about to turn away, she pointed to the drawing above the stove instead. "The picture of the house, do you know who did it? It's so well done. I really like it."

"Why, Mr. Bloom himself. He has such a fine hand, doesn't he?" Amy raised her eyebrows. "He even went and studied art in Europe, Miss, before he came here."

"And he became a butler? With talent like that?"

"He had a shop for a while, down in the village, to sell his art, but he could barely make a living in such a small place and then there was a fire, Miss, and he lost everything. The old butler had passed, and His Lordship brought Mr. Bloom on. Strange, him not being in service before, but he's done well. He suits the quiet house."

Amy made her goodbye with a smile and hurried back to the drawing room before she could be missed.

* * *

Fortunately, her absence upstairs did not seem noticed. Stuart and a footman came in just behind her with two trolleys laden with a heavy tea, and everyone was soon distracted by the passing of cups and the selecting of cakes and sandwiches.

Once everyone was settled with a cup in hand and a small plate nearby, Sheldon stood and asked for their attention.

"I wish to say a few things to you all, as my guests. Firstly, I am troubled by the tragedy that has occurred here. I do not wish to believe anyone here could do such a thing -" his eyes flicked to Amy "- but nonetheless, I demand as your host that you all cooperate fully with Inspector Kripke's investigation. I do not understand the need for artifice in general, but I especially loath it when it is used to create a false narrative. Your future standing not just as my continued guest in the future but possibly also your standing as a scientist depends upon your honesty."

He paused in an artificial fashion, but Amy had to agree it seemed to have the desired effect. Almost everyone looked down into their teacups. Did Sheldon have the ability to do what he seemed to be implying? Did he have the power to disgrace someone and ruin their career? She supposed he did; she'd seen more than one well-researched article get thrown in the rubbish bin and never mentioned again after a visit from a peer to Mr. Clayton's office.

"On to practical matters," Sheldon resumed. "I'm sure you've all been informed that the Inspector does not wish anyone to leave the estate. Of course, you will all remain as my guests as long as he decrees is necessary, although I shall try to encourage him to be as brisk as possible. Please feel free to use the house and the grounds as you please. I have instructed Mr. Bloom to open the old billiards room for your enjoyment, should the pointless knocking of balls around appeal to you. I am happy to assist anyone in rearranging their travel plans and I will cover any expenses incurred. In addition, I will personally call and speak to any superiors at your respective institutions should your delay cause difficulties there.

"I had hoped to continue our scientific meetings in my laboratory. Science does not blink in the face of death. However, I have been informed that it may be considered in poor taste."

"Thank you to whoever saved me that conversation," Leonard mumbled.

"But please know that if you wish to enjoy the laboratory, I am more than happy to join you. It would be a welcome release from the tedium of pointless small talk. Please just ask. Thank you." Sheldon sat down and picked up his tea.

"How long will we be required to stay?" Bert asked. "I am most eager to return home."

Rajesh turned toward her. "Miss Fowler, do you know?" Then, turning to everyone else, he informed them, "She's typing notes for the Inspector, sits right beside him when he questions you."

A murmur went around the room and Amy frowned. It was not a secret, and surely could not remain unknown, but it felt uncomfortable to have it announced. "I don't know," she replied. "It is true I am typing transcripts of the interviews for the Inspector, but that is all. I am not an investigator myself. Please know that anything you say during the interview will remain confidential. Inspector Kripke does not take me into his confidence." Amy's cursed her gradually flushing face. If not an outright lie, it was a stretch of the truth; Kripke had already shared things with her. "All he told me was that he did not want to rush things."

"Is that not a conflict of interest?" Bernadette asked. "Are you not also writing for the newspaper?"

"I have the same concern. But I brought it up to the Inspector, and he convinced me it could be done. I am not writing about what is said during the interviews. The Inspector will give me a statement daily, and that is all I am basing my article upon. You have my word."

Then Sheldon stood so abruptly that Howard sloshed some tea into his saucer. "Miss Fowler is a guest in my house, and I expect her to be treated as such," Sheldon said, his voice harsh. "I will not have you second-guessing her motives or professional integrity. She is integral to - to the timeliness with which this matter shall be resolved, I am certain of it. If you have any issue with Miss Fowler or her duties, bring them to me directly and I will handle them."

All eyes swiveled from Sheldon's pronouncement to Amy, and this time she knew her face was hot and blotched. Moving slowly, she put her teacup down and tucked her napkin beneath the edge of the saucer. "If you'll excuse me, I need to dress for dinner."

Ignoring the stares at her back, Amy waited until she well past the drawing room door before she ran up the stairs. The current state of her emotions forced the blood through her ears with a rush so that she didn't hear or notice someone following her, and, when a hand reached out to touch her shoulder on the landing of the stairs, she yelped.

"Miss Fowler, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Now is not the time to touch people unexpectedly on the staircase!" she shot back.

"But why did you leave so suddenly. Are you unwell? You are very flushed." Sheldon looked at her with a tilted head, as though he was trying to reason out the expression on her face. She decided to save him the effort.

"No. I'm - I'm embarrassed. And angry! How dare you say all that about me in front of the others?"

"What? It seemed they were accusing you of something, that perhaps they thought it would be acceptable to be unfriendly toward you. I don't want that. Do you?"

"No. No, not at all." Amy squeezed her eyes shut as dreams of scientific conversations with the others seemed to disappear. "But I could have defended myself. I _was_ defending myself! I did not need your help handling anything for me!"

"But why not?" His face hardened, which only emphasized the angle of his jaw. "You yourself have suggested that I 'use my pull' to accomplish what I deem worthy. And I deem you worthy."

"It's not the same! I don't need to be deemed anything by you to make it true. I need to be respected on my own terms, for who I am. For my own mind! Not because you ordered others to act as though they like me." She crossed her arms in front of her. She raised her voice, hoping to make herself heard over his ego. "I am not some useless damsel in distress for you to rescue!"

"I didn't think you were!" Sheldon shouted back. "And I respect you." He leaned forward, his straight, perfect nose pointing toward her, his broad shoulders filling the space. Amy tried to ignore the way the tension in his arms made his biceps flex under his jersey shirts.

"Do you? Or are you collecting me because you like my crossword puzzles, like you collect your magazines? Or am I just useful for you this one weekend, writing about your conference and then helping the Inspector?" She lowered her arms, balling her fists, spitting the words at him.

"Clearly I did not plan for this weekend to unfold in the fashion that it has! I wanted you to be a part of the group, an equal member."

Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears now. "No, you didn't! If you did, I would have been in the laboratory with you yesterday! But now I have been ostracized even further!"

"I already told you it was not my idea to leave you out. I cannot follow the logic of your argument!" Some kind of fervor rolled off of him in waves, almost knocking Amy over. His eyes, often smoldering, were aflame now, burning ever closer to her face.

"You are the lord of this castle! You could have ordered it so, no matter what someone else wanted!" Then Amy lowered her voice and sneered, "As for my argument, if you cannot follow it then perhaps you are not the rational scientist you thought you were."

Sheldon's head snapped back as though she'd slapped him and his nostrils flared. His eyes raked down her figure and then back up, and Amy felt them just as much as she saw them. Why did he do that? She felt exposed by his gaze and his thoughts. Anger pooled in her stomach, and, though she hated herself for it, something more desirous pooled further down.

She turned on her heel, marched to her bedroom, slammed the door, and then tugged at the sleeve and buttons on her jumper until it she could remove it, tossing it in heap on the floor. Wearing only her slip above her skirt, she grabbed the notepad from her deck, with its stiff cardboard backing, and attempted to fan the flames from her skin.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Several chemical agents were used as bioweapons during World War I. The most famous is mustard gas, which caused burns and blisters on the skin, eyes, and lungs. Even in so-called "fatal" doses, it took the victims weeks of severe pain to die. In "non-fatal" doses, the victim may have lived several years with painful lung disease and then die of cancer, due to the highly carcinogenic nature of the compound._ ** **_The term shell shock was coined during World War I for what we would now call combat stress reaction, which is a form of post traumatic stress disorder._ **

**_The British Ambulance Committee fell under the British Red Cross during the war. Over two thousand ambulances were dispatched over the course of the war and ninety-four of them were destroyed by the enemy._ **

**_Over 800,000 British soldiers died in World War I, but there is no accurate count of how many soldiers and civilians died in the following years from physical and mental injuries they sustained during the fighting._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	10. Chapter 10

Determined not to give Sheldon the satisfaction of thinking she was cowering, Amy took a cool bath and dressed in her turquoise evening gown, trying and failing to forget the memories it carried. If she wanted to prove to him that she did not need his assistance, hiding in her room was not the way to do it.

However, her nerve wavered when she entered the drawing room. Although it didn't feel as thick with tension as it had the night before ( _Had it really only been one night since Ramona was killed?_ , Amy thought in wonder), it was still a subdued place. It seemed to her that everyone glanced uncomfortably in her direction when she entered. She took the drink Stuart offered without asking what it was and gulped down a large mouthful only to discover it was white wine.

Amy sat in the middle of an empty sofa and attempted to drink the rest in the proper slow manner whilst giving off an air of general nonchalance. Her false peace, though, was quickly interrupted when Bernadette, wearing another frilly pastel chiffon frock, sat down next to her without asking permission.

"Good evening, Dr. Rostenkowski."

"I am the only female biochemist in my laboratory," Bernadette started without preamble. "I cannot leave it because it is a government job, arranged by my father. I love chemistry as a discipline, but my male colleagues . . ." She made a deep growling sound.

"That sounds familiar."

"I would not compromise the integrity of my work for anything. And, as women, integrity is one of the few things we can hold onto and claim as our own. I should not have questioned yours."

Amy raised her eyebrows but then nodded. "Thank you." She sighed. "I suppose we were a bit loud?"

"I have heard louder. I have been louder."

Just as Amy chuckled in response, Penny slipped onto the other side of the sofa. Her bright orange evening dress had actual fur sleeves. "Amy Farrah Fowler," she said, "I believe you just might be my hero."

"Heroine," Amy corrected her and the three women shared a smile.

* * *

If Amy dared to hope a friendship had been forged in solidarity on the sofa the first look from Sheldon at the head of the dinner table dispelled her hopes for an apology from him. Conversation skipped and lagged in general as no one seemed to know exactly what topic to settle upon, but Sheldon ignored them all. Instead, he ate with a thunderous face. Amy tried not to meet his gaze but she could not help imagining his look of rage was directed toward her. Meanwhile, he was stabbing at his vegetables and carving his steak with such force that Leonard finally said, "Um, Sheldon, perhaps you shouldn't be so, um, vigorous, given, well, you know."

Sheldon grunted and pushed his plate away. "It was already on the menu."

"I was referring to the way you were - never mind."

No one seemed to have the appetite for their steak anymore, setting their knives down with haunted looks, and Sheldon barked out, "Oh, just take the plates away!" forcing Stuart and the footman to leap into action.

Only Inspector Kripke, who had returned just before the meal, insisted on keeping his plate and finishing. Already, his presence had cast an awkward pall over the table, only deepening the discomfort of Sheldon's stare, and now conversation halted while everyone sat in silence, trying not to watch him slowly devour his bloody piece of meat. At least he wasn't drinking as much as he had previous nights. Looking away, Amy studied the monogram on the corner of her napkin as though it were the Rosetta Stone, noticing that Sheldon had never had them changed.

Breaking the silence, Sheldon suddenly ordered, "We shall discuss the weather. It is what my mother always told me to do."

"But you hate discussing the weather," Rajesh said. "Almost as much as you hate discussing geo - I mean, you dislike small talk."

"The weather, I said!" He slapped the table with such force that the cutlery rattled.

Nervous looks were exchanged over the table, but, fortunately, the pudding arrived and saved anyone from an immediate response. As everyone picked at their dessert, several dull minutes were spent dwelling on the unpredictability of autumn temperatures.

Half-way through Howard's proclamation about how much he enjoyed autumn for the young jumper-wearing women it brought to his university, Sheldon stood. "I am going to retire early. It has been a long day and I do not wish to engage in further conversation."

Uncertain whether it was merely a proclamation or another order, everyone left their unfinished puddings and followed not far behind.

* * *

"Well, Fowler, who should we start with today?" Kripke smelled of cigarette smoke the next morning as he gulped down a cup of coffee.

Amy sat her notebook and pencil on the table and dropped wearily into the chair beside him. It was too early in the morning to deal with the Inspector's caustic personality, never mind that she'd been up before sunrise starting work on a crossword puzzle. Although she'd left a few finished puzzles with Mr. Clayton, she knew she needed to work ahead, especially now that she would be at Medford longer than originally planned.

But it had been frustrating, the lack of graph paper requiring her to first draw dozens of lines and squares on her plain typewriter paper. And then to do it again and again, when she found a puzzle wasn't coming together the way she hoped. It made everything take much longer than necessary.

"Me? You want me to decide?"

"Nah. Just asking for a laugh. I already know. Cooper's our man, I'm sure of it. Did you see his reaction to my steak bit last night? Couldn't hold it together, could he?" Kripke chuckled and Amy was reminded of a hyena. "Let's work from his inner circle out. Hofstadter it is."

Leonard came in wearing a causal outfit very similar to what he wore the day before: a white tee shirt with colored trim under a zippered, nipped-waist cardigan. Amy was starting to have the strangest feeling that everyone here preferred to wear their clothes like a uniform. Even she was back in her homemade cardigan; of course, she'd only brought two sets of daywear.

First, Kripke asked Leonard to give his events of the night of the murder. "After we went to our room, I helped Penny with her dress -"

"Lucky man."

"Inspector!" Amy chastised him.

Leonard coughed. "Um, well, yes, I am. Anyway, we had a nightcap in Penny's room and talked some, and then we went to bed."

"Together?" Kripke asked but then put his palms up. "Just establishing an alibi, Fowler."

"Actually, no; Penny said she was tired after performing, which is often the case, so we slept in our separate rooms. Oh, just before we separated, we heard an argument in the hallway. I think it was Dr. Nowitzki and you, Miss Fowler. Maybe Sheldon?"

"It was," Amy answered.

"Anyway, I fell asleep until I heard the screaming, like everyone else. First I ran to Penny's room - our rooms connect and I thought it was a woman - but it wasn't her so we ran downstairs together."

"You didn't hear anything loud or unusual between the argument in the hallway and the screaming?"

"No," Leonard shook his head. "Oh, well, that stupid record repeating, you mean? Yeah, that was annoying. But I've slept through much more annoyance, believe me. His name was Sheldon."

"It was your, uh, gramophone player, correct?" Amy asked, unsure what to call the device she'd found. "Penny said Dr. Nowitzki borrowed it."

"Yeah. That was fine but I didn't know she'd play it over and over all night."

"Do you know why?" Kripke asked.

Leonard shrugged. "She said hers wasn't working right and she liked one of the songs."

"How well would you say you knew Nowitzki?"

"So-so. I mean, you know. We weren't friends or anything. But, you know, I met her through Sheldon."

"How would you describe their relationship? Cooper and Nowitzki?"

"Is that what it was?" Leonard grinned at his joke. "Well, she revered him, always flattering him and stuff, you know, and Sheldon's an egotist, so, yeah, they got on in a weird way."

"You think they got on well?" Kripke clarified.

"Maybe? It was strange to watch. I never could figure it out, not really. I never thought he saw her for who she was. Like he never realized she was a woman or something. She was always pushing him on, separating him from his friends, telling him how great he was. She was controlling him and he didn't even realize it at first."

"Until your wife pointed it out to him?"

"Yeah."

"I understand Nowitzki accused Penny of being jealous."

Leonard grinned again. "Believe me, she wasn't. But, yes, Dr. Nowitzki had some words for Penny, something like Penny was preventing Sheldon from seeing who was best for him. Penny just laughed, though, because it was so ludicrous. I mean, Penny and _Sheldon_?"

"Well, she married you," Kripke pointed out.

"Hey! I'm brilliant. And I have my talents."

Amy wrinkled her brow over her notes.

"Did you have words with Nowitzki yourself? How did you two get along?"

"She was so focused on Sheldon that she always ignored me; we hardly spoke and only then about Sheldon and where he was, if he wasn't right there. Again, I thought it was weird. I didn't think anything would ever happen, I mean, it's Sheldon, right? But Penny thought it was concerning; she actually got mad at me for not putting a stop to it sooner, like it was all my fault."

"What about science, though?" Amy asked. "Out in the laboratory? Didn't you talk about science then?"

"Oh, sure. She was a good scientist, that was true. Bossy, but smart. Huh, maybe she and Sheldon could have made a go of it after all. Anyway, yes, we talked about physics and stuff but nothing really controversial there."

"Did you ever discuss politics with her?" Kripke asked. Amy's eyes snapped over, waiting for him to pull out the swastika pin again, but he didn't. Interesting.

"No. Both Sheldon and I aren't really interested in politics. Sheldon, especially, hates to discuss it, doesn't allow it to even be mentioned around him. He blames politics for the war, you know, and killing his brother."

"One more thing. Did you go to the library at any time the day Nowitzki died?"

Perhaps because she knew more than Kripke, Amy thought she saw Leonard shift in his chair. Or was she imagining it?

"Yeah. Sheldon and I went in there before dinner, just to chat." He coughed and his heavy eyebrows descended. He looked like whatever he was about to say would hurt. "Just to let you know, to be honest, well, um, he, um, well he gave me the dagger."

For some reason, Leonard's honesty surprised Amy but not nearly as much as it surprised Kripke, who knocked over his half-empty coffee cup in response. But he ignored the small pool of brown liquid soaking into the white tablecloth to lean forward. "Are you saying _you_ had the letter opener, not Cooper?"

"Well, sort of. But only briefly. I left the library with it, I know I had in my hand. We went back to the drawing room, but remember, there was some trouble with wireless? I must have sat the dagger down somewhere to fix it. I don't remember. I didn't realize it until after dinner, but when I looked around near the wireless I couldn't find it. I tried to search while Penny was singing, but it wasn't there."

Well, that explained his sneaking around the drawing room that evening. Amy pointed out, "So anyone could have picked it up."

"Including Cooper," Kripke said.

Amy didn't bother to agree with him. It had already occurred to her. But - "Statistically, there's an equal chance that anyone in the drawing room, either before or after dinner, could have picked it up."

"'Statistically,'" Kripke quoted back with a grunt. "Bloody hell, you sound just like him sometimes."

"Sheldon didn't have the dagger," Leonard interjected. "I'm sure of it. Why would he give it to me and then take it back? Besides, there's no way he did this."

Kripke asked, "What makes you so sure? Because he's your friend?"

"No. Come on, you know him. Do you really think there's any chance he could manage it? He faints at the first sight of blood, you know."

"I bet he could find a way," Kripke countered. "He's got a one-track mind when he wants to. He could do some of those silly breathing exercises."

"Listen, I know Sheldon can be difficult at times -"

Kripke muttered, "Not exactly the word I'd use."

"- but it's only about how smart he is. He simply isn't capable of hurting a fly, not physically, anyway."

"We shall agree to disagree, then." Kripke's voice deepened and turn dark. "Not that I believe you'd tell me anything of import. Thick as thieves you two are, pals for years, since uni. Goodness knows you'd keep the secret for him."

Leonard stood. "We're done here, Kripke. I didn't kill Dr. Nowitzki and neither did Sheldon."

Amy watched in stunned silence as the physicist turned and walked calmly out of the morning room. She felt like there was an important question, probably several, on the edge of her brain but still hidden anyway in some sort of shadow.

Unsure what to say, she busied herself in making a cup of tea while Kripke rang the bell for Stuart. It was barely lukewarm now, even under the cozy, but it was more about a distraction than a pleasure. She forced herself to ask, "Would you like a cup, Inspector?"

"No. Can't abide tea myself." Stuart entered the room then and Kripke asked him to send Penny in along with a fresh cup of coffee. Stuart promised to do so, but Amy saw his eyes linger unhappily over the stain on the tablecloth.

Tired of sitting, Amy stood to drink her tea. The Inspector got up, too, but he made his way to the mirror above the fireplace and smoothed down his hair before straightening his tie. It was all Amy could do not to roll her eyes.

"What do you hope Penny will tell us that Dr. Hofstadter wouldn't?" Amy asked, to distract him from preening. "As I understand it, Dr. Hofstadter has known Lord Cooper for longer and under more intimate terms."

"Well, it's not like I expected Hofstadter to just hand me the smoking gun. But Penny . . . maybe she's one of those birds you just get talking and out pops the truth, from right between those beautiful lips, like a lollipop. She likes an audience; it's why she became an actress, right?"

Amy took a sip to avoid answering and admitting that he had a point. About the audience, not that a truth lollipop would come popping out of the blonde's red-rimmed mouth. And then she couldn't decide if the visual image of such a thing were vulgar or alluring.

Saving her from that quandary was the billowing light and airiness that always seemed to follow in Penny's wake. The blonde was dressed in full blue trousers and a crisp white blouse, but Amy knew enough about what she could never afford to notice the intricate pleating about the shoulders and the way it was cut and sewn to follow every curve.

"Miss Penny, thank you for coming." Inspector Kripke tipped at the waist, as though he was contemplating a bow, and this time Amy did roll her eyes. "Please, sit. Would you like Fowler to pour you some tea?"

Penny looked amused. "Of course, Inspector. I am here to do my duty. And, no, thank you."

They all took their places at the table, Penny angling the chair and tossing an arm casually over the back.

"First of all," Kripke started, "I just want you to know that my questioning you is a matter of protocol. In no way do I suspect you of any wrongdoing. But the formalities, you see, they must be observed."

Amy thought she was going to have to stick her pencil in her eyeball before this was over with if he kept it up.

"Nonsense, Inspector. I want to do my part. No special treatment for me. Ask me anything."

_How long will it take her to regret that?_ , Amy wondered. They were saved by Stuart bringing in the coffee.

"Oh, Mr. Bloom?" Penny called to him. "Will you make a fresh pot of tea for Miss Fowler, too?" She glanced over as Amy looked up in surprise. "I noticed you grimace. It's gone cold, hasn't it? Shame on you, Inspector, ordering coffee for yourself and not any tea for Miss Fowler. This is England, isn't it?"

"Erm, yes, my apologies." Kripke cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should start at the beginning -"

"What a swell idea!" Penny interjected with a smirk. She winked in Amy's direction, and Amy quickly lowered her eyes back to her tablet, trying to hide a smile.

"Er, yes. When did you first meet Nowitzki?"

"Monday afternoon at the train station. Apparently, she'd traveled up from London on the same train as us, but we didn't know until we were all met by Mr. Bloom -"

"The butler?" Amy clarified.

"Oh, yes. Sheldon doesn't usually have a chauffeur, Mr. Bloom does it all. He just hired one in on Friday to pick everything else up. Anyway, we all traveled together in the car here."

"What was your first impression of her?"

"She was creepy."

"Creepy?" Amy and Kripke asked in unison.

"Yes. Unsettling, I suppose you'd call it. Obnoxious but scary? I don't know the British word."

"Menacing?" Amy supplied.

"Yes, good, that. I mean, she told me was coming to be Sheldon's hostess. At first, I was so shocked I had to make sure we were talking about the same man. Sheldon's never once mentioned wanting or needing a hostess. But, yep, it was Sheldon alright. Talked nonstop about him on the drive, asked Leonard questions a mile a minute about the house and the estate, what Sheldon had been doing lately, even what he looked like now, said it had been years since she'd seen him. Like that man will ever age! What I wouldn't give for his cheekbones."

"We've been informed that you warned Cooper off of her, as it were."

"Absolutely. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Anyone - well, anyone but Sheldon and apparently my husband as it turns out - could see she was wiggling her meathooks right into him. She was determined to be Countess Medford, that much was clear. She even made up the seating arrangement for dinner and argued with him about the guests, like she was already lady of the manor!"

Kripke asked, "And you opposed the idea?"

"I opposed it for Sheldon. He had no idea what was happening. He's a bit naïve when it comes to these things. He really thought she just wanted to help him with his science. She was taking advantage of him. Wanted the money, the estate, and the fame. Kept talking about 'our paper,' 'our research,' things like that. But everyone knows Sheldon is the genius. She was just a hanger-on. I know the signs; they're all over Hollywood."

"How did she react to your warning?"

"I didn't warn her, I just warned Sheldon. But he asked her about it." Penny sighed. "Don't know why it surprised me for a minute, he needs everything directly spelled out for him so of course he went straight to the horse's mouth. But her reaction? First, she accused me of being jealous and then she accused me of harboring a secret from her."

"Where you? Harboring a secret?" Amy asked.

"Fowler!" Kripke said sharply. "If Miss Penny has a secret, I'm sure she has it for a good reason."

"No, no, it's a good question. But, no, no secrets, I'm afraid. Sometimes I get a script I'm supposed to keep quiet until it's announced but that's about it."

"But Dr. Hofstadter, he's your secret," Amy pointed out.

Penny grinned. "Oh! Yes! Of course. Golly, how silly of me. Okay, then, no secrets _except_ my husband."

Kripke picked up his questions again. "How did Cooper act toward Nowitzki after that?"

"Well, it took me a bit to figure out how to explain it to him, but once he got it, he got it. He avoided her like the plague. I think if it had just been the four of us, he might have sent her packing. But everyone else was coming for the conference, so she stayed."

"Did you know any of the other guests before this weekend?"

"Rajesh is here a lot when we come, and we've gone over to his parties once or twice. But, no, no one else. Leonard was excited to meet Mr. Wolowitz and he tried to tell me all about his stories, but I mostly didn't pay attention."

"Were you aware of Nowitzki's political bent?"

"Politics bores me. And, well, Europe is all the way over here we're all the way over there, right? But I heard her say some stuff about Hitler this weekend, like at dinner."

"Sympathetic to him?" Kripke clarified.

"It seemed so. But isn't that sort of a thing here? All those men wearing black shirts or something?" Penny shrugged. "Like I said, it bores me and doesn't really affect us."

Amy sighed deeply. Not in disgust at Penny's isolationism - it was, after all, the view of many Americans - but that she wasn't entirely wrong. Mosley's group was a 'thing,' as Penny called it, in England and too few, in Amy's opinion, saw it for the danger it was.

Kripke reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and Amy braced herself for the unveiling of the swastika pin. It was overly-theatrical but she had to agree the shock value of it had the potential to be revealing. But, surprising her, he merely stretched out and sat the cloth on the table in front of Penny. "Now, I understand this might be traumatic for you, Miss Penny, so please stop me at any time if it all becomes too much to relive. But I need to hear your memories of the night of the murder."

Once again, Amy felt perilously close to putting lead through her cornea. Penny picked up the handkerchief with two fingers, as though it was filthy, lifted it so that its folds fell out, and then let it pool back on the table. "Inspector, I grew up on a farm in Nebraska and I won't tell you how many times my brother has been to prison. Nothing shocks me by now."

Kripke was only saved embarrassment by the arrival of the fresh teapot. Amy set about pouring a cup for herself and Penny, over Penny's protests that she could do it, and then settled back down for the actress's story.

"Leonard and I relaxed in my room for a while. We had a drink and gossiped. But I was exhausted from singing, so he went to his room that night and I fell asleep in mine. I was out like a light."

"Didn't the gramophone bother you?"

"No. I heard it before I fell asleep, but I was a chorus girl on a traveling show once. I guess there was even a fight in the hallway and I didn't hear a lick of it. If you can sleep through a bus-full of forty women practicing their songs and bickering, you can sleep through anything. Anyway, I didn't wake up until I heard the screaming. Then Leonard came running into my room so fast he tripped, and then we went out in the hallway with everyone else."

"Did you recognize the murder weapon?" Amy noticed Kripke didn't display it to Penny. He probably thought she was such a delicate flower that she would faint or something. But Amy couldn't imagine Penny fainting at anything.

"No, why?"

"It's the letter opener from Cooper's library."

"Huh. Well, I don't really go in there. I prefer to read issues of _The Tatler_ I buy at the train stations." Then her eyes widened. "Wait! Was it the little sword or whatever that someone stole from Leonard?"

"Yes, I believe it was. Why do you say it was stolen?"

"Leonard was upset about it in our room. I don't really get it - I mean, why buy a miniature sword? - but he and Sheldon bought it together years ago. Every single year we have to cart that dumb thing back and forth across an entire ocean. Leonard says it's because of Sheldon's schedule, but, if you ask me, he's just as obsessed. Anyway, he said he sat it down in the drawing room but then it was gone later and he couldn't find it."

"And there's nothing else from that night that seemed strange or unusual to you?"

Penny shook her head. "No. I think murder is strange enough, don't you?"

"If I may," Amy ventured carefully after the rebuke Kripke had given her, "does your bedroom window face the front of the house?" Penny nodded. "Have you ever noticed anyone outside your bedroom window?" The Inspector gave her a look but didn't comment.

The actress screwed up her face. "Well, that's broad, isn't it? I mean, I've been here several times and there's been gardeners and whatnot. But I assume you mean this weekend?"

"Yes. You see, the portico at the front of the house forms a sort of balcony in front of the bedroom windows. I wonder if you've ever seen anyone transverse it."

"Golly." Penny's eyes formed large circles again. "I never thought anyone could get up there. Huh. But no, I've never seen anything like that."

"And I assure you, Miss Penny," Kripke said, "that as a result of this horrendous event, I have increased my patrols around the house at night in order to ensure your continued safety." It was the first time Amy had ever heard that particular euphemism for having a smoke. "Once again, I apologize for taking up your time, but one more line of questioning."

"Of course."

"What is your impression of Cooper? Do you think he's capable of the rage of the sort -"

"Sheldon?" Penny's eyebrows went up. "Surely you don't think -" She burst out laughing before she could finish the sentence. Under other circumstances, it would have been enchanting, the mirth spilling out of her like the clear peals of bells, her face open, her eyes bouncing and radiating light. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gathered herself, "it's just too much."

"I know you are friends and frequent guests here, Miss Penny, but surely you must agree Cooper is known for his temper."

"He is, he is, you're right." She took a breath. "Sheldon is . . . odd. The first time I met him I couldn't believe Leonard liked this wackadoodle so much. And, yes, I've seen him angry about the smallest, silliest things. Like last night. But, well, he's really all bark and no bite. He yells a lot and he can make your life miserable if you let him, but you just have to stand up to him. You English are too shy, all please and thank you and let's have some tea. I have no trouble telling Sheldon to shut up and, in my experience, he usually does."

"If only I'd known it was that easy," Kripke muttered but then he stood. "Thank you, Miss Penny, for your cooperation and the expense of your valuable time. You have been most helpful. I won't intrude upon you further."

And then he actually did bow. Amy wished she had already blinded herself so she didn't have to see any more of his sycophantic behavior.

"Sure thing. Any time." Penny bounced up. "Oh, Amy? We still haven't had our interview. Is that still in the works?"

"Yes, it needs to be. I'm sorry, I've been distracted."

"No problem. How about tomorrow after lunch, say about one? We can meet in my room."

Amy nodded. "That should work."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Penny's mention of "blackshirts" is a reference to Mosley's British Union of Fascists who favored wearing all black as a uniform.** _

**_Isolationism (or non-interventionism) was the de facto national policy in the United States between the two World Wars, until Pearl Harbor was bombed in 1941. The America First Committee, a group that supported nationalism and fought entry into World War II,_ ** **_pushed hard for the this agenda, and it was the belief shared by many Americans of the time. Although not part of their official platform, t_ ** **_heir speeches were often pro-fascist and anti-Semitic._ **

**The Tatler _is a British magazine focused on fashion and celebrity gossip that was first published in 1901. It remains in print._**

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	11. Chapter 11

Another lunch Amy spent in her room simultaneously typing and eating. Transcribing Leonard's interview took longer than most as she sighed over each meaningless phrase, whether they were hesitations or fillers. Or were they just Americanisms? She considered leaving them out as she did when someone said "um," but they were actual words and she had written them down, so she included them to be precise. Penny's speech was even more casual, if that were possible, but at least she avoided most of the hesitations. Penny had a confidence Leonard did not.

After transcribing their interviews and writing her article, Amy went to the library to call it into _The Herald_. Surprisingly, Sheldon wasn't there. Perhaps because she was earlier this afternoon. Or because he knew she'd need privacy for her phone call. Or, maybe, because he was avoiding her. Well, he should be. She was still smarting over their argument on the stairs. How dare he speak to her that way? And then his childish temper tantrum at dinner last night!

Coming out of the library, Amy heard the distant cracking of Bakelite balls. Someone had taken Sheldon up on the offer to play billiards. Amy didn't care about the game, but she was curious to see a newly uncovered room of the house, so she followed the sound to the same broad hallway that led to the morning room.

In a room across from the morning room, Leonard was bent over a burgundy-topped table, angling his cue at a green ball. Rajesh stood not far from him, holding a cue upright as he watched. From the doorway, Amy observed as the ball rolled into a pocket.

"Good shot," she said.

The bespectacled scientist looked up and smiled. "Thanks, but not really. Do you play?"

"Oh, no." Amy walked in and ran her hand along the thick nap on the edge of the table. "I've never been in a billiards room before. They're usually the purview of rich men."

"We could teach you," Rajesh offered.

"I understand the principals." Amy reached for a cue on the wall, measured its weight in her hand, and leaned over the table, cradling the end over the back of her hand, as she'd seen done in movies and photographs. "Geometry and basic physics, isn't it?" She pushed the cue forward, striking the black ball.

Leonard said, "It's a bit more complicated than that."

The ball rolled and rebounded off the edge of the table before shooting in the opposite direction, knocking the other two remaining balls in the process. Amy watched as each ball rolled into a pocket on opposite sides of the table.

"Wow," Leonard mumbled.

"Geometry and physics. As I thought." Amy returned her cue to the wall rack. "Is it only you two who play?"

"I need to ask Wolowitz and Kibbler," Leonard answered. "Kripke would if he were here, too, but, well, it's a little awkward now, isn't it?"

"Oh. Yes," Amy admitted. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no, stay, stay," Rajesh said with another of his blinding smiles. "Anyone who yells at Cooper is a friend."

Amy nodded but then asked, "Why is it you two claim him as a friend and yet constantly mock him?"

The men looked at each other. "Well, it's . . ." Rajesh started.

"It's like he's my brother," Leonard said. "And maybe for Raj." The other man nodded. "We love him, we really do, but well, he is difficult at times. I mean, he acted like a child last night at dinner, didn't he?"

"And he's mean to us, too." Amy raised her eyebrows at Rajesh's equally childish phrase. "He always makes fun of Leonard for being short and me for being a popular entertainer. He says I'm not serious about science. But, well, we forgive him and ignore his worst qualities."

"Yeah." Leonard pulled himself up straighter. "Despite my size, I can be the bigger man."

"And we like the same things," Rajesh added. "I enjoy coming here, talking to him."

"And he's a genius. Without a doubt, the smartest person I know," Leonard said.

Rajesh sighed. "He means well."

"He really does, you know," Leonard agreed. "Sometimes he goes about it all wrong, but well . . . surely you've noticed he's not what you'd call normal. He often fails but he tries if it matters to him. If you don't matter to him, he won't try for you."

Amy pursed her lips and looked away. Everyone kept forgiving Sheldon's behavior because he meant well, but she wasn't sure if good intentions were enough. Instead of answering she walked slowly around the room, studying it. Leonard and Rajesh returned to a private conversation, something about music.

The room was paneled in dark and gleaming wood with a green carpet, and a green glass shaded lamp over the table. The artwork was of equestrian and pastoral scenes, the largest even of a fox hunt, so it was clear this room had been shut up by Sheldon. It, too, was chilly, just like the morning room was, and she noted the lack of radiators. But a fire had been lit in the corner fireplace, and Amy drew close.

Warming herself, her eyes were caught by a stack of yellowed newspapers with curling edges next to a basket of kindling. Reaching down, she picked up the top one and discovered it was only a single page broadsheet entitled _The Medford Gazette._ In smaller print, it proclaimed 'Timely and Biweekly' and Amy smiled coyly in amusement at the curious and unhelpful choice of slogan.

"Are all of these newspapers from the village?" she asked, as she dug through them, scanning headlines.

"I think so," Rajesh answered. "Not exactly riveting reading. I tried once but it was only a report about the price of beef."

"Yeah, Sheldon only gets them to see his name in print and then complains they're not about his newest scientific achievement," Leonard added.

"I should be going," Rajesh said. "Good afternoon, Miss Fowler."

Amy looked up with a frown. "I didn't mean to interrupt your fun; please stay. I'll go. My mother always told me I have a poor habit of overstaying my welcome."

"No, it's not that at all. Wolowitz and I have a plan to try our hand at writing a song on the piano. Good afternoon."

Amy watched him leave and then turned to Leonard, who was racking up another set of balls. "Do you and Dr. Koothrappali play billiards often? Or is the room always closed?"

"It's always closed. At least every time I've been here."

"Is it really true that you and Penny come all the way from California twice a year?"

"Usually. Sheldon won't come to us; he's afraid of boats. Besides, we like his lab." Leonard struck the triangle of balls and they scattered over the tabletop.

"We? You and Penny?"

"I meant me. I guess I'm just used to saying we. Or, well, Sheldon and I. And Rajesh on weekends. Sheldon's lab has advantages."

"Such as?"

"Privacy. You see, anything I create or invent or even just test in my lab at Caltech belongs to them, the patent and everything. It's in my contract. Here, we get to keep the patents."

"Do you hold a lot of patents?"

Leonard shrugged. "A few."

"Lord Cooper, too?"

"One or two."

"Would I know any?"

"I mostly sell them to the military. In fact, it's why we're here now. We're going to London in a couple of weeks to finish a deal." He'd said it again: we. So Sheldon would be joining him, confirming what Rajesh had said, that Sheldon was not as much of a recluse as reported. Just secretive.

"The new gramophone player, the magnetic tape, it's one of your patents?" Leonard's next shot was horrible, the cue missing the ball entirely and scraping against the felt instead. Amy raised her eyebrows and then added, "Sorry. I assumed Penny told you. I was just curious about how it worked."

"Yeah, she did. Um, listen, that one, it's not quite patented yet. So I can't really explain the details; I'm sure you understand. And if you could be discreet about it. Off the record."

"Of course." Interesting. Did Ramona, too, promise to be discreet about it? If Leonard felt he couldn't even discuss it with Amy, why did he let another scientist borrow it? Did he feel it was covered by the confidentiality clause they had all signed? Amy let it drop and switched questions. "What does Penny do while you're here? It's very different from Hollywood, I would imagine."

"Read scripts and trashy magazines. Tries to sunbathe if the weather allows. Naps. Listens to the radio. She likes the quiet, but if she gets bored she goes down to London to shop."

As much as Amy enjoyed reading, she found this description dull. Everyone deserved a relaxing holiday from time to time, but Penny didn't strike her as a dull person in the least. But then, she had spent the previous day here alone in her room.

"But everyone else in the house is a scientist," Amy pushed, "and she told me herself she doesn't understand most science." Leonard didn't reply as he made another shot. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you meet? It's just . . . you seem so different."

"I had just moved back to Pasadena and got an apartment near campus. She moved in across the hall; she wasn't famous yet, she was still trying to make it in the pictures. For me, it was love at first sight. For her, it took some persuading. But, well, in the end, opposites attract, I guess."

Amy sighed softly. "I don't think I could be with an opposite. I want someone I can talk to about my work, who understands what I do, the words I use, the processes I have to go through."

"Another journalist, then?" Leonard asked.

"I don't think so," Amy admitted. "I enjoy writing and creating puzzles, but, well, I've always wanted to study biology further, especially the human brain. He doesn't have to be a biologist, though, although yes, a fellow scientist; I wouldn't want to be constantly explaining myself. But primarily just someone I can talk to, of equal intelligence, who adds nuances to my thought patterns. Someone also who respects me as I am. Someone who sees who I am. It's - it's like the brain. The current theory is we form gyri and sulci - that's the wrinkles -"

"I know."

"We form them because neurons in the cortex are connected already in a way we don't understand yet, but they may be mechanically pulled close to each other by axons in the white matter. The more connections, the more wrinkles."

"So you're a neuron looking for another neuron?" Leonard asked, picking up a piece of chalk on the edge of the table. "That's a . . . unique way to put it."

Amy gulped. She'd said too much, had gotten carried away with her little fantasy. She forced a chuckle. "It's silly, I know. Neurons! Does a man even exist who would not be bored by that?"

"Maybe." Leonard peered over the top of his glasses at her as he used the chalk on his cue. "Have you spoken to him yet?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

She turned her back on him, returning the newspapers and picking through the few on top. "Do you think I could take them?" she asked as she gathered the entire stack in her arms. "I'm interested in various forms of journalism, that's all."

"Well, if that's all," Leonard said, grinning, as he shot a ball across the table with a particularly loud crack, "go right ahead."

"Thanks."

"He's usually in the library by this time," Leonard yelled after her as she left, but Amy only hurried away for fear of dropping her reading material.

* * *

Back in her room, Amy sorted the papers chronologically. It was by no means a complete set, although she was able to determine the broadsheet was published every other week. But whole months were missing, although that allowed her an insight into the past several years.

The first issue she found was trimmed in black and reported on the passing of Mary Cooper, Countess of Medford. Not surprisingly, the reporter extolled her virtues and charity work in flowery language, holding her up as a paradigm of English virtue despite her American birth.

But after that interesting start, Rajesh was correct; the majority of _The Medford Gazette_ 's pages were filled with livestock and crop reports, small advertisements for the village shops, and a calendar of social events, mostly to raise money for local causes. Amy leafed through each issue, looking for the articles containing the Medford or Cooper name, although it was not difficult as such inclusion was special enough to be shouted by the headline.

The last issue was from the previous autumn, detailing the capture of the poacher on Sheldon's estate. There was a large photo of Kripke, his arm tightly holding that of a young man who was clearly down on his luck. The poacher's shirt was soiled and wrinkled, even worse than Kripke's permanently disheveled appearance, and there was even a small tear in the fabric evident over his breast. Amy wondered what happened to him.

For such a short newspaper from a sleepy village, Amy was impressed by the reporting. While not wholly objective, the tenor was always respectful and dignified. As she read throughout the afternoon, a picture far clearer than any of the photographs began to emerge.

His Lordship, Sheldon Cooper, Earl of Medford loomed large in the pages even if he never once appeared. There were brief reports about the need for local carpenters and other tradesmen required for repairs and renovations of his grand house. There were gifts bestowed upon the village: a fire engine four years ago after three shops burned to the ground, including Stuart's; donations to the lending library, the school, and the doctor's surgery; matching grants for the small war memorial and a new gutter and sewer system. Even the smallest gifts were described in glowing praise: the traditional wreath for Armistice Day, the brass cups for the fair.

And yet, pervading all the generosity and modernity, was an overwhelming sense of melancholy. Sheldon always sent his regrets and failed to appear at the either joyous celebrations or solemn memorials. Last June, Penny went in his stead to judge the flower show and caused a sensation, but Amy still read the wistfulness between the lines. Leonard had claimed there was no mention of Sheldon's scientific work, but that was not true: every award he won was announced proudly.

The afternoon sun was well on its decent, and Amy lowered the last paper with a strangely heavy heart. There was something sad but accepting about the disappointed eagerness of the articles. The village had lost a lively, ever-present countess and gained a hermit they did not quite understand but clearly wished to, very much.

* * *

He was standing at an open French door, looking out over his estate, lost in thought. Sheldon didn't notice when she entered, and Amy studied his lanky frame silhouetted by the light and the bookcases. His shoulders drooped, as though they carried great weight. It was beautiful and sad in equal measure. It was an image so in line with Amy's thoughts that she sighed.

"Lord Cooper?" she asked softly.

He turned and smiled, a smile so genuine, so rare, that it pained her. She noticed, for the first time, the hint of his front teeth. "Miss Fowler. The light this afternoon is lovely, wouldn't you say?"

"It is."

"I was just contemplating a walk. Would you like to join me?"

She shook her head. "I don't have my hat or gloves. And my mother once told me a ruined complexion was one step away from a ruined hymen."

Sheldon blanched. "Er, um, yes, I suppose? But neither do I. The hat, not the hymen."

"We'll miss tea time."

Sheldon glanced at the clock on the wall. "You're correct, I see. Please forgive me."

Then he turned away again and took a step out the door. Amy gripped the back of the chair near her as she felt everything in the room, and perhaps her person, being pulled out with him.

"Wait!" Amy called, rushing out the door. Catching up to him, they fell into step together without words. The afternoon was lovely, warm but with a soft crisp breeze. The sun felt good on her face, something she would have missed if she'd had her hat. Sheldon walked easily, his stride long and sure but not too fast. He was wearing another two-jersey-shirt combination and the golden leaves crunched beneath his sturdy brown shoes.

The closed wing of the house stretched beside them, across the pond and a broad expanse of lawn. "It looks larger from here," Amy said. "I wonder how long it takes the Inspector to circle it every night." She paused. "Maybe not that long. Inspector Kripke says Mr. Bloom just winds the clocks while he's gone. How long does that take?"

"I'm not certain. He only winds the public rooms at night. He used to wind every room at noon, but he asked if he could switch the winding of the public rooms to coincide with Kripke's entrance and exit at night. I was concerned the clocks would lag the first evening, but I monitored them with my pocket watch and all was as it should be."

"You didn't give the Inspector a key?"

"No. Mr. Bloom locks up after he returns." No additional explanation was given.

So it must have been Kripke that Ramona saw outside her window. That at least explained why Sheldon was so unconcerned, as he knew it was the scheduled time for Kripke's round. Was that one small mystery solved?

Amy switched the subject again, before Sheldon could suspect her intentions. "That entire wing is closed, correct?"

"Yes, it's closed. It's too expensive to heat and constantly clean. And I do not need it. It's just me now."

Of course. "I imagine it's beautiful; the morning room is."

"You have my permission to go look. Although I doubt I could stop you."

Amy glanced over at him but his face had not changed. It seemed less of a rebuke than a fact. "I met Mrs. Sparks yesterday."

"Ah, I see I am correct."

"Yes, and before you chastise me, I know that's not how things are done. But, well, I was following a lead."

"Following a lead?" He grunted and increased his pace. Amy responded in kind, quickening her steps. "I suppose you heard all the family gossip, then."

"Yes." No use denying it. "She respects you a great deal. She says you saved the estate."

"You sound surprised." That did sound like a rebuke.

Amy stopped and it took Sheldon two paces to realize. He turned around to look at her.

"How is it? Is it strange?" she asked.

"Is what strange?"

She gestured toward the broad face of the house. "All this. I cannot imagine it. I thought it would be easy, the money, the servants, but she told me of all the work you had to do. Was it difficult?"

Sheldon resumed his brisk pace and Amy ran to catch up. They were just past the edge of the house but instead of continuing into the formal gardens, he veered off to the side, past a row of yew hedges. Here, he finally slowed and Amy's lungs welcomed it.

"I never wanted to be the Earl of Medford," Sheldon replied. "I was the second son and that suited me well. Not because Georgie was better than me in some way, but because I could be left alone to my science. I would do research at a university and live quite happily off my allowance. But, when I came back, I realized how neglected things had become while I was gone: the house, the land, and, yes, the money. Repairs had been delayed, updates had been ignored. It was my fault, I suppose. My brother was too ill and my mother was too busy caring for him. Neither of them ever had a head for figures. So I applied science to it, consolidated where I could. I allowed the number of servants to shrink through attrition. I made changes to improve hygiene and comfort, to decrease the hours spent on tasks so that fewer servants were needed. It was all necessary. I just did what was needed."

"I know you've closed up most of the house, but how do you keep it all running?" Amy looked around; the grounds were lovely, even this late in the year when most things were dying.

"The tires."

She almost tripped over a stone in the path. She could not have been more surprised if Sheldon had mentioned ladies' stockings. "The what?"

"I own the patent for a type of synthetic rubber. I never sold it; I created an air-tight contract for any company that wants to use it. I get a fee for every tire produced. It adds to the cost of the final product, of course, but the tires are superior and people will pay for it. They are sturdier, less likely to puncture. I developed it after the war."

"For your brother?"

There was a pause before his reply. "Because of him, yes."

"But you're a physicist, not a chemist," she pointed out. "Although," she added, "you studied at the Institut Curie."

"Exactly. Physics and chemistry have many overlapping similarities. Not that dissimilarly would stop me; I'm certain I would excel at any science I decided to try my hand at. Any idiot could do geology." Amy laughed and Sheldon turned to her. "What? I could be a biologist, too, you know. I know how to use both formaldehyde and a centrifuge."

"I don't see you washing out beakers or slicing biological tissue, but, alright." There was no reply from Sheldon, other than one of his semi-confused neck stretches, and she smirked. "Is that how you know Dr. Rostenkowski? She's a biochemist."

"Actually, I'd never met her before. But her attendance was recommended to me and, after reading her published articles, I found her work exemplary. Just as I found yours."

It was Sheldon who stopped suddenly this time. "Miss Fowler, I owe you an apology. My behavior yesterday, it was . . . inappropriate."

"On the stairs or at dinner?" Amy asked.

He swallowed. "Both. But I especially wish to apologize for our conversation on the stairs. I don't know what came over me. I've - I've never experienced anything like it." He looked away and licked his lips. "I felt . . . overwhelmed. Overheated, even."

"You were angry. As was I," Amy conceded, his confusion and remorse obvious to her. "It is called the heat of the moment for a reason. We both said things we regret."

"I have been angry before. Often. Others are so unintelligent and it infuriates me. But this was . . . " He gulped again and shrugged.

"Primal," Amy whispered in agreement.

Flushing, Sheldon snapped back into step and Amy trailed behind him. Lost in her own thoughts, watching only her footfalls, Amy did not try to catch up and she missed the approach to a brick building. Sheldon stopped by the door and took a set of keys out of his pocket. He jangled them, glancing back at her, catching her attention, and then unlocked the door. "Well, aren't you coming?" he called over his shoulder.

Amy tried not to betray her excitement but it was impossible. Sheldon's laboratory was cozy, smaller than she imagined, but the equipment was state of the art. He showed her everything, pointing out several pieces of equipment. There were several large chalkboards and the dust coating them indicated their heavy use. Sheldon followed her around, answering her questions, sharing his equations and work with her.

More time must have passed than she realized, because as they discussed the state of research into penicillin being done at Oxford, Sheldon plugged in one of the newest models of electric kettles. He passed her a wooden caddy and she lifted the lid to smell the various tea leaves within. "I don't have any biscuits out here," he apologized as he poured the hot water over the strainer in her cup.

Sitting opposite each other at a lab table, they continued talking about synthetic rubber, advances in refrigeration, and the safety profiles of airplanes versus hydrogen blimps. Their tea had long gone cold when Amy looked up at the clock. "Oh!" She stood sharply. "We need to go dress for dinner. There's hardly time."

"Wait." Sheldon crossed to stand next to her. So near that Amy half-closed her eyes in surprise, as she picked up the clear, clean scent of soap. So close she noticed his broad shoulders straining the seams of his jersey shirts. "I need to -" He stopped and licked his lips, and Amy watched the slide and pull of his tongue and the glistening it left behind. Her breath caught in her throat.

Urging him to continue, Amy looked up with entreating eyes. A sound she did not intend but could not control escaped her when he reached up and brushed his fingertips through her hair, drawing a piece away from her cheek. His knuckles grazed her face and her heart thundered in response. His eyes, blazing like sodium set afire, locked with hers for a moment and Amy held her breath. Sheldon gulped and lowered his hand.

"There was a leaf in your hair," he explained, his voice was soft.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He did not draw away. "That lead you were following in the servants' hall, did you find it?"

Amy took a step back. "Is that what this is? Are you trying to get information out of me?"

"What is what? What information - oh." He put a hand out reaching for her, and she took another step to avoid it, the back of her knees knocking into a stool. "No, no, Miss Fowler."

"But you know I cannot tell you, so why would you even ask? Schrödinger's box, remember?"

"Schrödinger's cat. The state of the box is known, but not the cat."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters a great deal. If it were the box -"

"No." She shook her head, interrupting him. "It's my fault. I should not have come out here with you, spoke to you so casually."

"I was just trying to keep the conversation going. You said you liked to discuss the case with me. You find it helpful."

"Perhaps that was a mistake, too. I do not need help. After all, I am not the Inspector." She turned and walked toward the door. "We need to go back, to dress for dinner."

"Of course." The resignation in his voice was palpable. "But, Amy, please understand that I am trying. I just don't know how to do this."

Another silhouette of Sheldon, this time surrounded by scientific equipment, but the droop of his shoulders was the same. Resigned to a life he didn't want and didn't know how to execute properly. Amy wanted to be angry at him but she couldn't.

Instead, she whispered softly before turning and leaving, walking alone back to the house, "I don't either."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_The theory Amy mentions pertaining to the formation of_ ** **_gyri and sulci in the brain has since been disproven._ **

**_Inflatable tires were invented in 1887 by a Scotsman but they used natural rubber, as did the ambulances in World War I._ _The first synthetic rubber was invented in 1910 by a Russian scientist, but it was not very successful. By the 1920s, natural rubber had become so expensive that many other scientists were working to discover and produce as many new types as possible. The first successful synthetic rubber was neoprene, invented in 1931._**

**_Penicillin_ ** **_was discovered by Alexander Fleming in 1928. However, in its natural state, it is difficult to produce. Howard Florey led the research team at Oxford in the 1930s to produce larger quantities of an useful and effective drug. The first clinical trials started in 1941. He shared the Nobel Prize in 1945 with Fleming and Dr. Ernst Chain for his work._ **

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	12. Chapter 12

Amy managed to throw on her black evening dress and find her way to the drawing room just in time, right before everyone went through to dinner. She was certain her absence had been noted, probably with varying elements of suspicion, but at least no one asked her to explain herself. Penny smiled at her as they took their seats in the dining room.

After the dismaying meal the night before, the conversation started slow but soon moved onto an easy pace and neutral topics. Kripke was just as antisocial as usual, but this evening his silent presence did not seem to impede anyone. Howard and Rajesh had struck up a fast friendship centered on science fiction and music, and their interests led to general remarks about various famous persons in those fields. Amy was able to hold her own when the topic centered on authors and a few singers, but she lost interest when discussion turned to the royal family. Their lives were so far removed from hers that they held little sway in her thoughts.

It was not the topic alone that distracted her. Sheldon, much calmer than last night, also joined in when he had knowledge of a subject. But, between his additions to the conversation, Amy felt his eyes upon her. It was like the first evening here, when his sheer handsomeness made her blush and dart her eyes around. But, this time, she felt his knuckles grazing her cheek, the manly soapy smell of him standing close, the gentle movement of her hair. Was it all a ply for information? Or had she misjudged him?

"What do you think, Miss Fowler? You have not said," Bert suddenly asked her.

"Oh." Amy reached for her goblet of water and took a long drink. "I'm sorry. Will you repeat the question?"

"Mr. Wolowitz believes the British newspaper should print all the details of Prince Edward's dalliances with Mrs. Wallis Simpson," Bert explained.

"The more details the better!" Howard added.

"Do not be lewd at the dinner table," Bernadette interjected.

"And I say," Penny said, "that if there is something private, something they want to keep that way, then the newspapers have no business reporting it. Everyone deserves privacy."

"I don't know the situation well, but I can't imagine it coming to anything. She's married and one day he will be head of the Church," Amy replied. "It's a passing fling."

"But you know more of it than we do, right?" Rajesh asked. "You work for a newspaper. I know you're not allowed to print it, but surely you know what you can't say publicly."

"I don't write about the royal family, it's not my beat," Amy explained. "I have heard rumors, just like the rest of you, but I don't follow them."

"Hey. She probably has a code of honor; let's not force her to reveal details." Amy shot Leonard a grateful smile. "But, Miss Fowler, can't you at least state your opinion on whether or not you should be allowed to do so?"

"Well, it is not new or unusual for governments to have classified information -" Amy started.

"I feel sorry for him."

All eyes turned to Sheldon at the end of the table, and, although she had not been paying attention to the topic earlier, Amy felt confident this was the first time he had spoken on the matter.

"Excuse me?" Penny asked. "Do you even know who we're discussing?"

"Yes, Edward, Prince of Wales, heir to the throne. I feel sorry for him."

"Um, well, I've got to say that empathy for another's love life isn't really your strength, Sheldon," Leonard added.

"I imagine it must be difficult, to be wanted a certain way by the populace, a way he does not feel he can be, and yet have no one with whom he may share who he does want to be. And then, when he finds such a person, it cannot be according to society."

A gentle murmur went around the table, as though Sheldon had dropped a small pebble in a pond, and Amy closed her eyes as the ripple reached her.

Bert asked, "Have you met The Prince?"

"No. I suppose I could arrange it if I choose, but I do not see the need. And my little earldom is of no interest to the monarchs."

"But your earldom is nice," Bernadette said. "It is my greatest wish to live somewhere quiet like this, where one can be with - can be themselves."

"Then you concede my point," Sheldon replied.

"Doesn't it bother you that she's married?" Kripke asked, the first time he'd participated all evening. Then he muttered, "Another crime."

"And already divorced once?" Howard added.

Rajesh said next, "And American?" Penny shot him a sharp look, and he put up a hand, "Sorry, but you rejected us, not the other way around."

Howard murmured next to Amy, bringing a smile to her lips, "I thought he was Indian."

"Of course it bothers me," Sheldon said sharply. "My mother did not raise me to condone adultery. I do not sympathize with his choice; rather, the position he must be in, to feel he must make such a choice." He paused. "I, too, do not follow the gossip, just like Miss Fowler. But I know what it is to be burdened by one's title. Most people want you for one thing, but those you care about the most, they refuse to accept the help you can give them."

"Um, I'm not really sure His Highness is helping her," Penny said.

Howard raised a finger and whispered, "From what I hear, she is helping him with a little problem." Then he curled the finger downward. "Helping him keep the flag at full mast."

A slight gasp escaped Bernadette on the other side but it seemed that most at the table didn't hear him.

"And she doesn't seem to be refusing anything but common decency," Rajesh added.

Sheldon waved his glass, and, for the first time, Amy realized it was filled with wine, not water. "I'm speaking in generalities-"

"Since when?" Leonard asked.

"- but there is usually someone who refuses to accept your help because they think it's beneath them to do so. Or that it weakens them. Or that you are trying to take advantage of them. They refuse to accept your generosity. They do not see that your offer of help is a way to try to connect with them."

"Excuse me, but my English is not native," Bernadette said. "Are we still speaking about Prince Edward?"

"Perhaps he wants to say to her," Sheldon continued, as though she hadn't asked, "'Please. Let me help you. If not in this one large thing, then in one small thing.' Then he will know he has been heard, that he has been understood for who he really is and wishes to be."

"Defiantly not," Penny said, clearly looking at Bernadette to answer her question.

But Amy saw that it was not about whom he was speaking, it was _to_ whom. She felt scorched by his gaze, her cheeks warming and, no doubt, flushing. One or two side conversations broke out at the table, attempting to understand Sheldon's strange rambling, but Amy had understood it perfectly.

Sheldon only looked away when Leonard reached for his wine glass and suggested he return to water.

* * *

As they walked across the great hall to the drawing room after dinner, Amy waited and then reached out to brush Sheldon's arm. He stopped and they waited until everyone else had passed through, leaving them alone.

"Lord Cooper, I apologize for my accusation in your laboratory. But surely you must see the position I am in?"

"Indeed, Miss Fowler. I see you quite well."

Amy blushed, her eyes darting away. "Graph paper."

"Graph paper?"

"I'm having difficulty creating my puzzles. Mr. Clayton is almost through the stock I left, so I need to make more. But it would be far easier with graph paper." She looked back up at him. "I know it is only one small thing, but perhaps you could help?"

"Nothing would give me more pleasure."

* * *

"Who are we starting with today?" Amy asked as she settled into her usual spot next to Kripke in the morning room, arranging her newly sharpened pencils and notebook just so. "Shall this be the day we crack the case?"

Although it was early, she was in a good mood. Up again with the sunrise to work on a crossword puzzle, she thought she heard a noise and opened her bedroom door while still in her nightgown. There, on the floor in front of her, was a stack of graph paper wrapped in twine.

The Inspector looked up from one of his bottomless cups of coffee. He was always drinking something it seemed, either alcohol or, more often lately, coffee to stave off its effects. "You're eager."

"Am I?" She shrugged. "I would have thought you would be, too. The sooner you solve this case the better for your career, yes?"

He only grunted in reply. "Rostenkowski. She's German. Seems logical."

"Just because Dr. Rostenkowski is German and we believe Dr. Nowitzki was a Nazi sympathizer, does not mean they are in any way connected," Amy argued. "Germany and its sympathizers are a large group; statistically, it is very unlikely they've ever met. In fact, Dr. Rostenkowski disagreed with Dr. Nowitzki on politics, remember? That first night at dinner and that's what the argument in the laboratory was about. I told you that's what Lord Cooper told me." Determined to be faultless in her duties, Amy had shared Sheldon's version of the disagreements in the laboratory after Penny's interview yesterday. Fortunately, Leonard had already told them about the dagger in his interview, so she had not found it necessary to explain fully to the Inspector how cozy her conversation with Sheldon had been.

"Could all be an act. The sweet little voice of hers and all of it."

Although Amy did not think Bernadette's politics were an act, she agreed that the petite biochemist seemed like the type that could turn surly without warning. But Bernadette was calm and professional when she entered, wearing one of the pretty floral day dresses she favored, this one with a large floppy bow at the neck.

Dispensing with even his brusque preliminaries, Kripke said, "So, Rostenkowski, tell us how you came to be here."

Bernadette sat primly across the table, seemly unbothered, and her replies were direct. "Dr. Cooper invited me. I was honored and eager to see England."

"Had you met him before?"

"No."

"Didn't that strike you as odd? A scientist you've never met inviting you to another country for this conference?" Distaste dripped from Kripke's last word.

"I had heard of him, and I read more before accepting. He's very accomplished and well regarded in his field. As am I. It seemed natural that he would have learned the same about me."

"What is your impression of him?"

"Brilliant. Proud, too proud. Rigid. Childish. But trying, I think, to change. Something has made him try."

Kripke grunted, but Amy raised her eyebrows at the statement.

"What exactly is that you do in Germany? I mean, what type of chemistry?"

"Currently, I am working on biological reactions to various chemical formulas." She shrugged, and it was the first movement on her part. "I work for the government. I cannot say more than that. All German science is classified."

The look of satisfaction that Kripke shot to Amy was the smuggest she thought she'd ever seen. And she worked in a newsroom full of men. "That would be Adolf Hitler's government?"

"My employment there predates his seizure of power."

"You've been outspoken about your dislike of him. Why not leave?" It was said casually, as he picked up his coffee cup.

"And go where? I am a young woman in a field dominated by men. In a country dominated by the same type of men. They would rather have me make their coffee while they stare at my breasts."

Amy was wrong. Bernadette's expression in response to the sputter and spray from the Inspector as he lowered his coffee and raised his eyes to her face was the most smugly satisfied thing she'd ever seen. Poor Stuart; another ruined tablecloth. But this one was worth it.

"My father works for the lab, as chief of security," Bernadette continued, "and he was the one who arranged my position. It would be difficult to leave after he worked so hard for me."

"And so you'd never met Nowitzki before this weekend?"

"I did not say that. I had met her. Earlier this year. Before you ask, I disliked her."

It was difficult to pay proper attention to her shorthand instead of watching the expert way Bernadette was handling Kripke, keeping him constantly off guard.

"I did a fellowship," she continued, "and, when I returned, she was visiting as part of some sort of cultural exchange. It was only two weeks, but already in her first week she had . . . ingratiated herself to my coworkers. Yes, that is the word."

"Really?" Amy asked. "But it seems that everyone disliked her. Did she let them, erm, drink her coffee?"

"Probably. But not that I know of." Bernadette frowned. "She flattered their politics. You may have noticed she admires our new chancellor. Flattered men are not shy men."

"Including your father?" Kripke asked. Amy wondered if he was disappointed he didn't get to shock her with the swastika pin.

"My stepfather actually. But he's the only father I have ever known. My mother died a few years ago and he continued to remain so. Until recently, I would have said he was a good man."

Amy glanced up as Kripke said, "Because of Nowitzki?"

"Not entirely. He wanted me to take his last name, although it had not bothered him before, and I disagreed." She paused. "My name is Polish. My grandmother is Polish and suddenly he did not like me to visit her."

"Is she Jewish?" Amy asked softly, worried the question would offend Bernadette. "Perhaps he was trying to protect you. There are rumors -"

"No." Bernadette reached up to adjust the bow of her dress. "I suppose I should be grateful for that. If my mother and I were even a little Jewish . . . Well, I would not be working with a man that used to be my stepfather, would I? So, no, it was not about protection. It was about pride."

"Did you and Nowitzki have an argument or anything like that?"

"Yes. In Germany. About my father."

"So, if you'd known she would be here, you would not have come?"

"I am not sure. I was most eager to see Britain. It was very important to me."

Kripke then inquired about the night of the murder and Bernadette's version of events was no different than almost anyone else's. She heard the gramophone and the argument in the hallway and then it was the screams that finally roused her from bed. When he asked about her placid non-response to the prior noises, Bernadette replied, "In Germany, one learns to keep your head down and your ears closed. Do not ask about the noises outside your door."

The Inspector then asked about the murder weapon, including whether or not Bernadette had been to the library that day.

"No."

Amy leaned forward. "But didn't you and Mr. Wolowitz come in that morning? While I was talking with Lord Cooper?"

"Oh, yes. I forgot. It was a brief conversation, meaningless. I do not think I even realized which room we had stepped into. Excuse me."

"One last question," Kripke said, leaning forward, "did you kill her?"

"Inspector, I could kill her a thousand ways and you would never know that she had been murdered. Influenza? An infection after a paper cut? Bad fish? The deadliest weapons are invisible to the eye. A dagger is for amateurs."

Even if she meant them in jest, another volley with the Inspector, the coldness of her words sent a chill down Amy's spine.

* * *

Howard was sent for next, and Amy wondered if this had been Kripke's plan all along or if Bernadette's mention of Poland made him think of it. It was an intriguing coincidence, but Amy could not claim it to be any more than that, especially as that had been her assertion to him earlier.

If Bernadette had seemed unnaturally poised and calm, Howard was fidgety and jumpy from the very first. He wore another plaid flannel shirt, the type only workman wore in England, and, as usual, his pants were tighter than Amy had ever seen.

Launching in immediately, Kripke asked, "Wolowitz. From Poland, yes? Aeronautics?"

"Yes. At the University of Warsaw."

"You also write science fiction and that's how you met Cooper."

"He often sent me letters to discuss my work, but this is the first time I have met him in person."

"What is your impression of him?"

"He is incredibly intelligent, no? Very respected in his field. He has many opinions about other fields, like mine. He is very precise, too much. He thinks about himself for the most part. But he also thinks about others."

"How so?"

"I am only an associate lecturer, I do not have the funds to travel. He paid it all for me."

As was his ambling nature, Kripke changed topics to ask Howard about the night Romana was murdered. Just like Bernadette, his account was very similar to everyone else's except "a large bird flew past my window."

Kripke looked confused. "Why is that important?"

"Maybe it is not. But Dr. Nowitzki, she said someone was outside her window, no? My curtains were open and I thought I saw a large bird on the ledge. I opened the window but there was nothing. Maybe it was the same; it was just before the raised voices in the hallway."

"It's possible," Kripke muttered. Amy wondered what to make of it. In reality, it didn't matter; either Ramona saw Kripke on the lawn or she saw this large bird near the window, but neither would have been spying on her. Unless of course, it wasn't a bird at all. But surely not. A person would be much larger than a bird.

"Did you know Nowitzki before you came here?" Howard shook his head. "What did you think of her?"

"Not my type. No bosom." He gave a half chuckle at his joke and Amy frowned. "Yes, yes, be serious. I like a strong woman, a loud woman, but she was too much for me. I did not like her politics."

"Ah!, here we go!" Kripke said. Into his interior jacket pocket went his hand and out came the handkerchief-wrapped pin. Except, if he was hoping to shock Howard, he was disappointed.

"I am not surprised. She seemed like the type to use a whip and be called Frau."

Finally too disgusted, Amy said, "Is everything sexual with you? A woman has been murdered."

"You are right, you are right. My apologies. It is a fault of mine. I am nervous. B - but - my friend is always telling me to stop. But, no, I am not surprised, she talked about their plans."

"Whose plans? The Nazis?"

"Yes, in the lab. In the morning, she made rude remarks about my country all morning. And, then, in the afternoon, she defended the policy . . . in English, I think, Restoring Civil Servants?"

"Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service. Gesetz zur Wiederherstellung des Berufsbeamtentums," Amy supplied and Howard nodded.

"What brought that up?" Kripke asked.

"She was arguing with M. Kibbler about the, I think in English, mentally sick? I did not hear the beginning, they were whispering at first. But she said that was why some were not fit for the sciences if they carried the genes for the sick. At first, I did not understand the connection, but then I understood she thought the Jewish are mentally sick." Howard ended his statement with a small flutter of his hand, and it pained Amy to think he was so used to such hateful opinions that he could not produce a more outward sign of anger. Or, perhaps, he'd learned not to.

"What happened next?"

"It was a break and Dr. Cooper, he came back from . . . well, I think the toilet, and he yelled, again, to not discuss politics. Everyone went quiet. He started a new topic, unrelated."

"Do you think Cooper was angry enough with her outbursts to kill her?" Kripke asked.

"I think he would have to, how do you say, stand in a queue to do it."

Amy shifted in her chair. It was one thing to realize everyone had a motive, it was quite another to realize how dark things at this conference had become. Poor Sheldon - and she caught the thought. Isn't that exactly what Kripke was asking? Would Sheldon kill someone just to keep peace at a conference? In truth, he may not be poor Sheldon at all. He was, after all, still that unknowable cat in the box to her.

Kripke interrupted her thoughts, "Had you ever seen the murder weapon before? It was a letter opener, from the library. Did you ever go in there?"

"I went to the library twice. Dr. Cooper wished to show me his collection of science fiction. And Dr. Rostenkowski and I talked there the first morning. You were there." Howard looked in Amy's direction. "But never alone. And I did not notice the dagger."

"One more question," Kripke continued, "other than Cooper and Nowitzki, did you know anyone else here before you arrived?"

"Yes, of course. Dr. Rostenkowski."

Amy was not as surprised as she would have been two hours earlier. She had already noticed how often Howard brought up the biochemist's name. She looked over at Kripke. "Well, it's a small world, after all, isn't it?" he said, smiling at her, not Howard. Then he turned back. "How do you know her?"

"Last year, she had a fellowship at my university. Dr. Cooper, he asked me if I knew any other scientists in a field he did not have, and I remembered her to him."

"Ah. How close were you?"

Howard shrugged. "We were friends. We would have coffee at a café, they make Shavuot cakes all year."

A few more questions revealed nothing of interest and Kripke let Howard go. The poor man was still so nervous he almost stumbled in his hurry to leave.

"Well, Fowler, what do you make of that? Our two Nazi-haters knew each other. She's a cold piece of work, isn't she?"

"Perhaps," Amy agreed. "But I think she has struggled in her profession. With the men, as she said. _And_ ," she increased her volume, "I don't think anyone here is a Nazi-lover, thank goodness."

"Yeah, but they're closer to the action. He's Jewish and she thinks Nowitzki was shagging her father or stealing state secrets with his help. Or both. Think they could have teamed up? He's as nervous as a cat on hot bricks, so I don't see him doing it alone. Maybe they met in Warsaw to plan it all?"

Amy remarked, "But Dr. Rostenkowski said she hadn't met Dr. Nowitzki until she returned from Warsaw."

Kripke stood with a grunt. "Maybe. But things are starting to feel a little too coincidental to me. I mean, my money is still on Cooper, but, well, if I were betting, I'd put them to place. Or all three of them could be in cahoots. Why else pay for the little guy's ticket? I'll see if I can confirm the timing of any of this when I'm at the station. Make some calls."

"Make some calls?" Amy asked.

"Of course, Fowler. What do you think I do all afternoon? Sit about and do crossword puzzles? That, my dear, is your job."

Amy frowned. Of course, she should have realized that he did additional research during his time at the station. Although he was still rude and condescending - as if he could successfully complete one of _her_ puzzles! - she wondered if she'd misjudged him. He was drinking less, that much was clear. He was here every day on time and he asked what seemed pertinent questions. And now he seemed willing to consider other suspects, so perhaps he wasn't as convinced to the outcome as she previously thought.

Because, she admitted, he was correct. Either Bernadette or Howard was clearly lying.

* * *

After Kripke left, Amy went upstairs to transcribe her notes. However, outside her door, she wavered. Howard's story about the bird came back to her. It was so odd. She felt it should be irrelevant, and yet something about it piqued her curiosity. What, exactly, could Howard see from his window?

She unlocked her door to put down her notepad before she went to study the name tags on each door and place everyone's location on the night of the murder. Sheldon and Ramona's rooms she knew, and she assumed Ramona knew Kripke's when she pounded on that door. Penny or Leonard, of course, must be next door to her based on the lovemaking she'd overheard the first night.

But, once she got there, she stopped short of the door. The tag said **Mr. Howard Wolowitz**. How had she not realized this sooner?

Amy bit her lip. The more she thought about it the less Howard's lust surprised her. But who was coming to Howard's room in the middle of the night for sex? A maid? It was certainly possible. The only other options were Penny and Bernadette. Penny seemed impossible for a variety of reasons and Bernadette seemed . . . well, more likely. But, unlike Kripke, Amy just couldn't see the two as partners. One of them was lying, yes, but Bernadette seemed like the type of woman who ate lascivious men for breakfast. It was one of the things Amy liked best about her.

Except, Amy remembered, it was the first night she'd heard the meeting next door but not since. Could it have been Ramona? Too startled by the implications to continue, Amy returned to her room just as a footman knocked on the door with her lunch tray.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Edward, Prince of Wales, at this time was conducting a love affair with the married, already one-divorced, American Mrs. Wallis Simpson. Rumors swirled about this affair in Britain and reporters around the world covered it, but the scandal was officially ignored by the British press out of deference to the royal family. In 1936, Edward ascended to the throne as Edward VIII, and the British press finally broke their silence later that year. Shortly thereafter, Edward VIII_ _abdicated the throne in order to marry the woman he loved._ **

**_The Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service was passed in Germany in 1933, two months after Adolf Hitler officially came to power. It decreed that any civil servant not of Aryan descent was to be dismissed for their job. Civil servants included almost all professions under this law, not just government officials: teachers, lawyers, doctors, academics, and even musicians._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	13. Chapter 13

Unfortunately, Amy did not have time to dwell on any possible lies Howard had told. After typing her notes, quickly and with crumbs from her sandwich falling between the keys, she had to write her daily dispatch for _The Herald_ , based upon another official report given to her Kripke. Today's felt especially thin, and, she thought, overly optimistic as to the state of the investigation, but her job was only to report the facts and quotations as the Inspector presented them to her. And now that she knew he was putting more work into the case than it seemed she was determined to treat him with more respect, even in her thoughts. The article was not her best work, but she had to hurry downstairs to call it into the newsroom as her appointment with Penny was nigh.

Back upstairs, Amy read all the remaining door tags before knocking on the one labeled **Dr. & Mrs.** **Hofstader**.

"Come in!" called Penny's clear voice from the other side.

The couple's suite was the largest room Amy had seen outside of the drawing room, with a central sitting room and a bedroom leading off each end, one decidedly more feminine than the other from what she could see. Rooms fit for an Earl and a Countess. The sitting room was large enough for a sofa and two chairs before the fireplace and a several other pieces of furniture along the edges. The window was especially large, and Amy ascertained by the view that they were above the very center of the portico.

As Amy entered, there was an alarming amount of clothing spread around, visible not just in one of the bedrooms, but even on the furniture in the seating area. Surely any maid would not have left the room in this state; had Penny made this mess in a single morning?

"Oh, Amy, come in, come in," Penny called as she came from the bedroom. "I was just cleaning out my dressing room, deciding what to take home and what to donate."

"You're packing? I thought you usually stayed for weeks."

"We've got an appointment in London in a couple of weeks, so we'll stay on extra for the shows and the shopping. But we'll come back after that. So I'm just sorting out some things I don't really wear anymore. The more room I make in my trunks, the more I can buy. Here -" she held out a cream-colored garment - "this looks like you. Take it."

It was a jumper, but in the softest, plushest thread Amy had ever felt. As with all of Penny's clothes, it was simple but elegant, the neckline forming a graceful knot.

"Thank you. It's beautiful." Amy folded it carefully and set it down on the coffee table next to her notebook and looked at the pile of clothing on the sofa. On top was the pink peignoir the actress was wearing the night of the murder. "You're getting rid of your pretty nightgown? Why? Bad memories?"

"What? Oh." Penny glanced over from studying a long dress in pink and black stripes. "When Leonard came running into my bedroom and tripped that night, I tore the matching dressing gown trying to help him up. It's just a rag now."

It explained why she wasn't wearing the dressing gown downstairs, although Amy would have preferred a torn gown to none at all. But then she didn't have Penny's figure. And why not keep the peignoir, at least? It wasn't a rag; it still looked like the finest piece of lingerie Amy had ever seen in person. "No, of course not." She hoped she hadn't offended her new friend. They were friends of a sort, weren't they? If she could be friends with a murder suspect. "Are you ready for our interview?"

"Of course. Do you mind if I keep doing this while we chat? Otherwise, I'll never finish."

As Penny sorted through her clothes, seemingly making a larger mess than before, Amy sat and asked her the questions she'd been given by Mr. Clayton, faithfully recording Penny's answers in shorthand. She wasn't surprised that nothing titillating was revealed; the questions were meant to avoid any mention of her marriage or last name or even her presence at this conference. Penny answered each question almost by rote, with none of the vivacious joy Amy had seen in previous conversations.

Finally, Amy closed the cover of her notebook. "May I ask you something off the record?"

"Sure. Do you want a drink? All this sorting has made me thirsty." Without waiting for an answer Penny opened a cabinet nearby and started to mix two cocktails.

"How did you and Dr. Hofstadter meet?"

"I moved to L.A. to be in the pictures - I was sick of off-Broadway plays and those traveling shows - and he was across the hallway. At first, I wasn't interested, so I thought I'd play hard to get. But gradually I realized he was genuinely nice and different from other men. He wanted to talk about me, not just himself or how pretty I was all the time. We actually had more in common than I thought. I like to joke he wore me down, but, really, it didn't take long. Here."

Amy took a sip of the offered cocktail and coughed. "Strong." She sat it down as Penny curled up on a chair across from her. "If I may ask, what do you have in common?"

"In Hollywood, an actress should be either demure or sexy. Or - if she wants to be really famous - somehow manage to do both at the same time. But never, ever, should she be smart, no matter what." Penny sighed softly and, for the first time, Amy thought she saw a wave of sadness pass the normally happy face. "But not Leonard. He asked my opinion, listened to my ideas, helped me make my dreams a reality. It wasn't that he just opened the door for me, because he's a man and I'm a woman. It's that he stood back and let me pass through first." She paused, and, as quickly as it fell, her bright happy mask returned and Penny waved her hand with a smile. "Gah! How sappy! Listen to me getting carried away, talking romantically about my husband like we just met. He lets me shine on the big screen and that's the most important thing to me."

"That sounds lovely," Amy said, referring to the serious interlude, not the light-hearted ending. "So Dr. Hofstadter is your manager, as well? Is that the word?"

"No, I have another manager."

"But you said he helped you with your career, helped to make your dreams come true."

Penny smiled. "I just meant he's supportive, that's all." She paused. "My first movie was this horrible Tarzan film and I played a woman who turned into an ape. I know, it's awful and you haven't even seen the fake fur! But Leonard gave me some good advice on how to get out of it. So it was never finished and never released. Anyway, he's a good man. Maybe it's not important what we talk about. It's that he listens and he helps me when I ask. He doesn't stand in the way of my dreams, but he also doesn't let my dreams lead to stupid decisions."

Amy tried not to be stabbed by jealousy. "I've always wanted to marry a scientist. Not like Dr. Hofstadter, though; he's a little peculiar. I'm glad you scooped him up. He might have tried to chat me up me here, and I can't think of a more strange scientist than him."

"Gee, thanks. And really? You can't think of _anyone_ weirder?"

"Well, Mr. Wolowitz, but is he a scientist or an author?" Amy paused. "No, definitely not him."

"So, no opposites attract for you?" Penny asked. "Aren't you limiting your choices?"

Shaking her head, Amy said, "Honestly, I haven't had that many choices. I'm happy for you, but you're beautiful. All I have to offer is my brain. And interest in other brains. Most men don't look at me twice. But a fellow scientist . . . maybe he would see me for who I am. I know it worked for you, but I'm not really sure opposites attract works out most of the time. Sometimes the chasms between two worlds are just to great to overcome. At least here in Britain; you Americans are more free with your love."

"Nonsense," Penny said sharply. "Something is only a chasm if you let it be one. You said you want someone to see you for who you are. What if he's looking from the other side?"

Amy took another swallow of her cocktail, as it was growing on her the more she drank, and leaned forward. "Let me tell your story, Penny. The real you. Let me tell the world about your happy marriage."

"Why?"

"Because I think it's sad that you have to hide away who you truly are from the world. They should love for you who are. And love the man who already does."

"Hmmph," Penny said, "trust me, the world cannot handle who I really am."

"I think they can. Everyone loves a handsome couple in love. And, well, Dr. Hofstadter may not be handsome, but surely you're beautiful enough for the both of you. And your story is heart-warming."

Penny shook her head. "You don't understand. The studio owns me. I signed an exclusive contract for ten films. There are morality and behavior clauses. I signed it before I was married. So no marriage for me. At least, not a public one."

Her comment made Amy wonder if Penny were her real name. It had crossed her mind before, for how else would she keep her marriage so secret? Winking at reporters was one thing; skirting the technicalities of a legal contract was another. "Wouldn't this be the best way to get out of that contract, then?" Amy asked.

"No." Penny got up and fixed another pair of cocktails. "The studios in Hollywood, they're like the mob. They run everything. Yes, I could break my contract that way, but then I'd be blackballed and never work again. They don't just pay me for my films; they pay me to own me. It's not worth it." She held out another drink.

Amy took it. "Not even for true love?"

As Penny arranged herself on the sofa this time, she answered, "Sometimes admitting to love also requires you to admit other things about yourself. Surely you understand that."

Amy took a drink. "I've never been fortunate enough to experience love. But I should like to think I would only love without reservation."

"It's not a reservation about Leonard or my love," Penny said. "It's just a compromise. Every relationship has them. So, no, it's not a perfect situation. Of course, I want to be free and open about Leonard. But the point is that I get to be free and open _with_ Leonard, and that's the most important thing." She paused and Amy considered her next question as they both drank more of their cocktails. But it was Penny who leaned forward. "You've really never been in love? No one has ever made your heart beat faster? No one has made the room seem cold when they leave it? You've never locked eyes with a mysterious stranger and lost yourself?"

Gulping down the rest of her cocktail, Amy said, "I don't believe in love at first sight. I wrote an article about it."

"Ah, I see." And the beautiful actress said it as though she truly could see something Amy couldn't.

"Never mind, then," Amy said quickly. "About your story. It was just an idea, that's all." She shrugged. "To change the subject, Lord Cooper -"

"Bingo," Penny murmured into her glass.

" - what do you think Dr. Hofstadter thinks of him?"

"He loves Sheldon like a brother and that means they spend a lot of time acting like children, teasing each other. I mostly just let them fight it out. But there's love there. They really are best friends, although neither of them would probably admit it."

"But that also means they would protect each other."

"Sure. Of course."

Penny's eyes narrowed slightly, and Amy felt her openness slipping away. She did not want to endanger this friendship. "Does it bother you that you have to come over here so often, especially if they're just fighting it out?"

"I like the quiet. It gives me time to relax. And, well, Sheldon . . . he grows on you. But I mean what I said to the Inspector, you just have to stand up to Sheldon." She paused. " _He's_ a scientist, you know . . ."

Before Amy could reply there was a knock on the door. Penny yelled, "Come in!" and Bernadette entered. "I hope you don't mind," Penny explained. "I thought we'd be done with the interview."

"Oh, oh." Amy stretched for her papers and notebook. "Of course, just let me gather my things -"

"No, silly, stay," Penny said.

"Yes, stay," Bernadette added. "You are usually too busy to join us."

Amy brushed her hair back. "I've never done this before. Socialize with such beautiful women. What do we? Varnish each other nails? Have a pillow fight?"

"Um, no," Penny said. "We just chat. And drink."

Chat they did. Chat because it wasn't serious, talking about clothing and shopping and then slipping into more mean-spirited celebrity gossip than usually passed at the dinner table. Amy tried to join in when she could, but the truth was she'd never had the discretionary time or income to enjoy the things Penny and Bernadette had.

Feeling low about her station and tipsy from the cocktails, Amy was completely lost as Penny shared the shocking conquests of an actor she didn't know. But Bernadette was clearly thrilled at being told such salacious gossip. So, at a break in Penny's tale, Amy blurted out, "Howard Wolowitz had sexual intercourse with Dr. Nowitzki!"

"What!?" Penny and Bernadette shrieked in response and Bernadette was so shocked she even spilled her cocktail glass.

Savoring the looks on their faces, Amy explained, "Mr. Wolowitz. His room is next to mine. I heard them, the first night. She knocked, came in and giggled, and then they knocked in a whole other way."

"No way!" Penny said.

"Absolutely not. It was not her," Bernadette said.

"Why not?" Amy asked. "And who else would it be?"

"Yikes!" Penny said. "I can't imagine anyone having sex with that twerp."

"Nein!" Bernadette yelled as she stood up. "Do not insult him -" her breath caught "- with English words I do not know."

"A twerp," Penny explained, "someone small and jumpy and Howard-like."

"He is a famous author, you know," Bernadette pointed out, calm again, and slowly sitting down.

Penny rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Famous to the other odd people in this house, you mean? Leonard was so excited to meet him, it was all he talked about the whole way here."

Amy looked at the smaller blonde woman. "What's he like? He said you become friends in Warsaw."

Bernadette laughed, but sharp like gravel, and Amy didn't feel it was sincere. Then she got up and starting mixing another cocktail, looking down at her hands as she worked. "I would not say we are friends. We were acquaintances at the university during my fellowship. We met once or twice at faculty events."

"But he said you met at some café," Amy pressed, "one that served some type of cake."

"Of course. I forgot." She passed around another set of drinks. It was even stronger than the first two, and Amy sat it down after a single sip. Something about Bernadette's comment made her realize how woozy she was; not addled enough that she couldn't realize something was off, but too addled to determine what. "There is a bakery near my grandmother's house, they make Shavuot cakes -"

"What's that?" Penny asked as she took a gulp without hesitation.

"A cheesecake. For the Jewish holiday," Bernadette supplied. "But other things, also, that I went to buy. Yes, I saw him there once, in line. We spoke. I forgot. It was unremarkable."

"Isn't it so strange?" Penny suddenly mused, and Amy noticed how much the drinks had affected her, too; she was practically reclining on the sofa.

Amy asked, "What is?"

"It's a small world, isn't it? Sheldon said he was inviting a new group of people but they all already knew each other. Bernadette and Howard in Warsaw. Raj knew Bert, you know? Egyptian rocks or something like that. And, you know, the rest of them, they've known each other for years . . . Wow, what did you put in here, Bernadette?"

The biochemist replied, but Amy didn't hear her. She stood, and she couldn't decide if it was the alcohol or the new suspicion creeping at her mind that made the room spin around. "Excuse me," she murmured, grabbing her notebook, "those cocktails _were_ strong. I'm going to lie down."

She left Penny's suite in a rush, ignoring the cries of concern about her well-being from behind her, reaching out to touch the walls as she found her way to her room. Her hands fumbled with the door key and even more as she opened the drawer in the desk where she kept her copies of the interview transcripts. Digging through, the pages crinkling in her rush, she pulled out Leonard's interview and reread it.

All those Americanisms. All those hesitations and colloquialisms. Amy whispered to herself, "Except they weren't, were they?"

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Under the "star system" used by all five major Hollywood studios at the time, an actor was given an exclusive contract that included several so-called morality clauses. These clauses dictated everything about the actor's public image: what they looked like, how they dressed,_ ** **_who they were dating, where they were seen and with whom, etc. It was common for gossip columnists to be paid by the studios to cover certain events or sightings - or to ignore others with additional hush money. Breakage of these clauses by the actors would result in unpaid_ ** **_suspensions. The star system finally began to fail in 1943 when Olivia de Haviland sued Warner Brothers and won. However, Warner Brothers was successful at blacklisting her for two years after. Of note, Bette Davis also sued Warner Brothers in 1937 and lost._ **

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	14. Chapter 14

Unaware and unconcerned about the time, Amy shoved open the door to the library with such force that it swung and hit the wall behind it. Sheldon looked up from the desk with a startled expression. She wasn't surprised to find him there. How did he do that? Manage to be out of the library when she needed to use the telephone but always back in time to find him mid-afternoon? In her present state, the question made her head hurt.

"Miss Fowler," he said, his brows dipping, "you're in quite the rush today."

"You lied to me!" Amy said as she stomped toward him, waving the papers she'd brought.

"You have far more confidence in my ability to successfully carry off an untruth than anyone I have ever met."

"Perhaps because you didn't have as much at stake with your previous lies."

Sheldon sighed, setting down whatever he was working on. "So we _are_ doing this again. Another afternoon argument? It's becoming tiresome."

"No, it's not, you love to argue."

"Correction, I love to be proven correct."

"Thank you for proving my point."

He raised an eyebrow, perhaps a silent concede. "Very well. How did I lie to you?"

Amy thrust the typed pages out. "It's the transcript of Leonard's interview. He kept saying 'you know' to the Inspector. I thought it was a casual Americanism, like all those 'ums' they use, but it's not, is it? Leonard knew that Kripke already knew something. Several things, actually, as I noticed when I reread it. About Dr. Nowitzki, her personality. About you and Dr. Nowitzki. Is it a small world after all, Lord Cooper?"

Sheldon stood, his movements as purposeful and graceful as always, betraying nothing. If Amy had been fully aware of her own actions, she would have noticed that his voice was calm and quiet in contrast to hers. "Not telling you what Leonard may or may not know that Kripke may or may not know is not lying. It's just a quadruple negative."

"So, it's a positive! It's a lie of omission!"

"By that logic, Leonard lied to you as well. And even Kripke."

"Don't think that hasn't occurred to me! But here you are, pretending to like be all noble and - and generous -" she was sputtering and this she did realize "- and saving the village - while you were leaving out half the story!"

"Need I remind you that, for all your intelligence and curiosity, you are not in charge of this investigation? That was what you told me yesterday. This is not one of your crime novels."

"And yet you tried to get information out of me yesterday! Pretending you wanted to kiss me!"

Sheldon's head snapped back, and now he did raise his voice. "Believe me, when I decide to kiss you again, you'll know it."

"Is that a threat?"

"No!" He ran his hand along his forehead. His voice quieted. "You are worse than Elizabeth Bennet! Too proud to accept help, too prejudiced to believe anything but the worst of me because I have an estate."

"Elizabeth Bennett is not both too proud and too prejudiced. She is too prejudiced and Mr. Darcy is too proud -"

"Huh. I thought it was the other way around."

"- which, now that you mention it, so are you!"

"I am not! I have not insulted you nor your family at a ball."

"Well, if you knew my mother you would!"

Amy smacked her hand over her mouth as they stared at each other for a moment. Slowly, Sheldon's lips started to quirk at the corners and she knew he was trying to hide a smile. How did he do that? Yet another argument with him that resulted in her feeling hot and discombobulated, and that's no doubt why she'd let such a disclosure slip. She was so warm she was certain that she was sweating through her jumper. And was the room spinning?

"Oh, no," she groaned, reaching out and leaning on the desk for support.

Sheldon stepped around the edge of the desk. "If I may be so bold as to say I can smell on your breath that you've visited Penny's suite, and I think the fresh air would be beneficial to clear your head and perhaps settle your stomach."

He slid the transcripts out from under her palm, over her squeak of protest, and opened the top drawer of his desk. "Don't worry, we'll leave the papers here, locked up. I'll give you the key."

"I don't have any pockets in this jumper," Amy protested weakly.

"Then, Miss Fowler, you'll just have to trust me. Come along now." He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her gently to the door. It was cooler than the previous day, and a crisp wind slapped Amy's face as soon as they stepped outside. "Breath in through your nose, out your mouth," Sheldon instructed. "Slowly. Deeply."

Amy tried doing as instructed, but the intake of chilled air or the expansion of her diaphragm or the heady sensation of Sheldon's arm around her waist made everything swirl again.

"Oh!" Amy pulled away and one arm over her stomach and the other hand over her mouth. "I don't feel well."

"Here." Sheldon steered her toward the bushes they were passing, and, standing behind her, gathered her hair in his hands. His fingers were warm against the skin of her neck and Amy's vision swam, causing her to bend over and heave. But nothing came up other than a very unladylike belch. And then another. "Oh dear," she murmured, hot again from further embarrassment.

"Has it passed? The nausea?" Sheldon asked softly.

Amy nodded her head, the edges of the shrubbery tickling her nose. "I think so."

Sheldon let go of her hair but kept his palm on her back as Amy stood. Only when she was upright did he drop it. She avoided meeting his eye as she smoothed down the front of her jumper and rearranged her hair, trying to regain some semblance of propriety.

"I'm sorry. I've made a fool of myself," she finally said. "I'll - I'll go back to my room." She turned to leave.

Her shoulder was caught by his hand and she finally looked at him. "It's Penny's fault. I, too, was once embarrassed after her drinks. I showed my buttocks to the drawing room, which fortunately only contained Leonard and Koothrappali."

With a weak smile, Amy said, "I think I would have enjoyed seeing that."

Instead of words, Sheldon replied by waving toward the path in front of them, and Amy fell in step next to him, letting him pull her arm back into the crook of his elbow. After a few paces, Amy did feel better, the autumn air filling her lungs and making her feel more clear-headed. "You smell nice."

"It's my soap. I order Grade 1 TFM soap from America."

"I didn't know soaps had grades."

"Everything has a grade, Miss Fowler. Someone or something is always the best."

Now that her stomach had settled, she felt how much cooler the day was than the previous, and she pressed herself closer to his warmth. He led her in a different direction than before, toward a row of trees and an old folly in the distance.

"How much do you know?" he finally asked, once they were out of the shadow of the house.

"I _know_ nothing because you won't tell me. I _surmised_ that you, Dr. Hofstadter, Inspector Kripke, and Dr. Nowitzki all knew each other before this weekend."

"Ah!" Sheldon said, his chest practically puffing in triumph. "I did tell you. You know Dr. Nowitzki and I had met earlier, that she was appropriately enamored of my work. You know I arranged Kripke's current position. You know Leonard and I were flatmates."

"But Dr. Hofstadter knew the Inspector and Dr. Nowitzki, also, didn't he? And Inspector Kripke knew Dr. Nowitzki? And she them?"

Sheldon nodded. They were walking up a slope, and his breath was coming harder. "We were all at Oxford, reading physics together."

"What?" Amy stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Sheldon to stop as well.

"Why are you surprised? I thought you surmised all this. I was getting my second doctorate, and they were all undergraduates."

"Well," she admitted, "I wasn't sure it was Oxford. Because . . . Really, the Inspector is a physicist?"

"Almost." Sheldon resumed walking and, as she did not want to let go, she joined him. "He didn't finish."

"That sounds more likely."

"Believe it or not, Kripke was not always an alcoholic, Miss Fowler. He was always grating and his body of work wasn't nearly the same caliber as mine, of course, but he was actually considered a smart young man by some. Once he told me about a theory he had, and . . ." Sheldon drew in a shuttering breath, "I thought it was better than anything I'd come up with." He straightened his shoulders. "There. Now you know I'm not lying. I've never told anyone that. Mind you, it was just that one theory, something that I later disproved myself, in my lab."

Perhaps it was the warmth of his body, the closeness of scent, but Amy believed him. "So what happened?"

"It turned out that maybe it wasn't such an original idea, so I needn't have been jealous."

"No, not the theory. To Inspector Kripke, why didn't he finish his degree?"

Sheldon shook his head. "I didn't inquire into the details. But Kripke left Oxford and then I lost track of him."

"But I thought you arranged his current position?"

"Yes, but that was after several years, when I discovered how destitute he'd become. At first, when it happened, I ignored it. Later, I regretted it."

"Why?"

They reached the folly and stopped. It felt good to catch her breath after the uphill climb. Perhaps that had been Sheldon's idea, to help pump as much oxygen into her lungs as possible. With her hand still tucked in his elbow, Amy stood next to him and looked out over his vast estate. Even though she knew he had sold some parcels, it still looked huge to Amy. From here she could see a barn at the bottom of the other side of the hill, with enclosures around it for a few cows and pigs. A man was walking in the distance. Mrs. Sparks' son, maybe. After a long pause, Sheldon sighed and steered her back towards the house.

"I ignored it because it did not concern me. But I felt that Kripke thought it concerned me. And maybe Leonard, a little, too. And, with time, being back here, I regretted not speaking to him about why he left."

"You could do it now," Amy suggested. "Tell him the truth of his position."

"I do not think Kripke would be receptive to me now. He has become too bitter. Let him think he earned the job on his own merits. He has proven himself capable."

"And Dr. Nowitzki?"

"She was in the same class as Kripke."

"So she knew why he left?" Amy pushed.

Sheldon nodded. "Yes, I think so."

"And now it is too late to ask her," Amy mused. "I doubt the Inspector will tell me."

Stopping, Sheldon turned to her, letting her hand fall from his elbow. "Will you ask him?"

"I don't know," Amy confessed. "He is in charge here. And I think he's giving the murder more thought than I originally believed. I'm not sure I'm in a position to question him about anything." She took a deep breath, contemplating her limited options. "Thank you for the walk. I feel better now."

They started walking again, returning to the still-open library door. "Good. If you like, I can have tea sent to your room. You could take a nap."

"First, I would like to use your telephone again, if I may."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Of course. I don't suppose you can tell me . . . ."

"No," Amy confirmed, "not a chance. Even if you would have held my hair back as I vomited in your hedges."

"Of course." He waved toward the desk. "Go right ahead, I'll leave you alone. Excuse the mess."

After he'd left, shutting the library door behind him, Amy crossed the room and put her ear against the wood. She didn't hear anything that sounded obviously like listening from the other side, but, of course, someone could be silent. Well, it wasn't as though she was going to be telling any secrets over the phone.

After asking the operator to be connected to the _Oxford Mail,_ Amy waited to be put through. Then, while she waited again for the switchboard at the newspaper to put her through to the correct person, she glanced on the papers on the desk. On top, there was her daily crossword, all filled out in pencil with a time written next to it. With a smile, she picked it up, pleased to see Sheldon's small, precise letters in each square. The letterhead of the document underneath that caught her eye: a letter from the Academic Assistance Council.

"Miss Fowler, Miss Fowler, are you there?"

"Oh, yes." Amy pushed the crossword puzzle back to avoid further distraction. "Mr. Gibbs, I'm so pleased I've caught you. How are you?"

As Mr. Dave Gibbs talked in his amiable and self-deprecating way, Amy smiled. Before he'd moved to Oxford, they had been at _The Herald_ together, and Mr. Gibbs was one of the few men that had been kind to her. Genuinely kind, not just kind to try and steal her work or her virginity. They had even stepped out a couple of times, but, for reasons Amy could never pinpoint, she just hadn't felt anything romantic for him. Sometimes, on her darkest nights, she regretted her choice. He was respectable and kind, and if she had settled for him there was no doubt her life would have been easier. But she wasn't sure wanted easy.

" . . . And to what do I owe this pleasure? Are you still at Lord Cooper's estate? I've been reading all your articles."

"My articles?" Any clutched the phone cord around her fingers. "You have?"

"Oh, yes, they're being reprinted everywhere. Quite the scoop!"

"I - I hadn't realized." Amy wasn't sure how she felt about this news.

"What's he like? I've always imagined him a bit like Mr. Rochester crossed with Dr. Jekyll."

"Well, I haven't found either a mad first wife or small deformed monster yet, but he does have a laboratory behind his house, so the latter is a possibility." Amy winced as she said it. Everyone knew that Mr. Hyde was a murderer.

But Dave only laughed. "Excellent! Do you think you could introduce me to him sometime?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure what we - I mean, if we'll stay in touch."

"You must! He's a genius, you know. But enough about you-know-who. To what do I owe this pleasure? I doubt you called to shoot the breeze, as the Yanks say."

"I need some information. Two separate things, actually." Amy had chosen to call Dave over any other colleague for more than just his kindness, and she led with one of the reasons, "I seem to recall you have a source in the United States patent office."

"Indeed I do."

"I'm curious about the patents filed under the name Leonard Hofstadter. Some may be classified as military projects, but I'd like to know as much as you can find out."

"Let me grab a pencil . . . Leo-nard Hof-stad-ter," Dave repeated slowly, no doubt writing the name down. "Happy to. And the other?"

"There was a group of students at Oxford in the early twenties and one of them left abruptly, I think. Do you think it would be possible to find out some more details? Something seems . . . fishy."

"It depends on why this person left, but I can try."

"And about the others, if you can. What their involvement with each other may have been. They were all reading physics. I know it's a lot to ask on short notice, but . . . I promise I'll try to make that introduction." _Even if it's through a jail cell,_ she thought to herself.

"Will do. What are their names?"

"Leonard Hofstader, again. Then Ramona Nowitzki. N-O-W-I-T-Z-K-I. Barry Kripke." Amy took a deep breath and braced herself for the response she might receive to the last name. "And Sheldon Cooper."

* * *

Back in her bedroom, Amy had to ignore Sheldon's suggestion for a nap, although her early mornings were starting to wear on her. Instead, she wrote out her interview with Penny. It was not urgent enough to be called in, so she rang Stuart for tea and to post it along with the crossword puzzle she'd created that morning. That left just enough time to take a bath and change for dinner.

Just as she was about to head down to the drawing room, there was a knock on her door. It was Penny, and she smiled, holding out the cream jumper in front of her. "You forgot it. How are you feeling?"

Taking the soft garment, Amy said, "Better, thank you. Lord Cooper took me on a walk and that seemed to help."

"Did he?" Penny smiled and Amy looked down to avoid meeting her eyes.

"How should I wear it, do you think?" she asked to change the subject, turning to put the jumper down. "With a brooch?"

"You could, I suppose. I never wear brooches, though. Someone can just come up and pull it off, ripping your clothes. It happened to an actress I knew once, someone was crazed and they said they were grabbing the closest thing to her heart."

"How awful. And silly! Emotions are housed in the brain, not the heart," Amy replied, pulling her bedroom door shut behind her.

As she and Penny started for the stairs, Penny murmered, "Well, then, I'd watch that clip in your hair, if I were you."

Amy turned to look at her, but Penny was looking down, watching her steps, a soft chuckle escaping her mouth. Amy decided to ignore it. They walked down the stairs together, although they turned when they heard Howard's skip-like steps behind them.

"No, no, go ahead," he said. "I like watching you from the back."

"Ew." It was a single syllable, uttered from Penny, but Amy smiled as it so perfectly expressed her own sentiments.

She turned to her beautiful friend. "Will you excuse us? I need to have a word with Mr. Wolowitz."

"Are you sure?" Penny leaned in close. "What if he tries something? I don't care what Bernadette says."

"It's fine. First I go for the testicles, then the corneas. It always works."

Penny flashed her a smile and left Amy on the stairs with Howard.

"Miss Fowler. You have chutzpah," he said. "I like it."

Amy wasn't familiar with the word, but she didn't care for the way he said it. She crossed her arms. "Drop the act, Mr. Wolowitz."

Howard smirked. "What act?"

"I know you already have a lover in this house."

His smug look faltered but then he quickly recovered it. "You are mistaken."

"Your room is next to mine. I heard you the first night. With Dr. Nowitzki."

"What? No." He put his hands out.

"Then who else? A maid?"

"If I say yes, will you stop asking me about it? It is bad enough you told Dr. Rostenkowski."

Amy lowered her arms and stepped back, nearly missing the edge of the stair. "Dr. Rostenkowski already told you I told her?" How strange. Bernadette kept saying she wasn't friendly with Howard. And yet, the way Howard described it, they were close enough she came to him the same afternoon to discuss his love life.

Shrugging, Howard replied, "We crossed paths and she asked me."

Perhaps he was making more out of his friendship with the biochemist than was there. He liked to flirt with women, that much was obvious; Bernadette was a pretty single lady who could certainly be in his sights. Too pretty for Howard, in Amy's opinion. But then why did Bernadette care to ask whom he was sleeping with?

"I thought you were going to be discreet with your inquiries," Howard continued, his tone unmistakable.

Amy swallowed. He was right. "Of course. You're correct. It was indiscreet of me to share. I apologize. I won't even try to blame the cocktails." She paused. "Although you neglected to tell Inspector about it during your meeting, so I didn't break the confidentiality of your interview."

"What happened in bed that night had nothing to do with Dr. Nowitzki's death, so it is . . . what is the English word? Irrelevant."

It was clear he wasn't going to tell her the truth. And perhaps it didn't matter; sleeping with the deceased woman didn't mean he had killed her. But it was too coincidental to be unimportant.

"Nothing is irrelevant in a murder investigation," Amy warned and turned, descending the stairs quickly.

* * *

After dinner, Howard and Rajesh took turns entertaining the group on the piano. Penny sang along to a few songs and was joined by most of them for a couple of the more popular ones. Then the new friends played a new song they had composed that afternoon, something silly based on a wireless serial with which Amy wasn't familiar.

The evening was turning into an impromptu talent show of sorts, and Amy was clapping and laughing after Bernadette's tap-dancing rendition of _Puttin' on the Ritz_ when Bert came to stand next to her. "Mademoiselle Fowler, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, M. Kibbler."

"You are assisting the Inspector, yes?"

"With transcription and typing, yes."

"I am most eager to return to Paris, to my family. Is there anything you can do to make that possible?"

Despite his size and the flatness of his tone, he managed to convey an impatience she had not previously seen from him. She smiled softly. "You must love them very much."

"Yes. I have never left my daughter this long. I worry for her."

"Is she ill? Surely if you were to explain that to Inspector Kripke -"

"No. She is healthy. In perfect health." Amy raised her eyebrows at his interruption. "I do not wish to discuss her. I just wish to return to her."

Amy sighed and sat down the full wine glass she was holding. After her embarrassing afternoon, she'd refused all alcohol this evening. "M. Kibbler, I don't know how I could be of assistance -"

"But you are so popular."

"Excuse me?" Surely this was a mistake in his English. "I'm sure that's not the correct word. I'm not popular, here or anywhere else."

"I saw you and Miss Penny and Dr. Rostenkowski last night, sitting together on the sofa. You walk with Dr. Cooper every afternoon. Dr. Koothrappali said you beat Dr. Hofstadter at billiards."

"You saw Lord Cooper and me walking?" Amy could not pinpoint why this bothered her.

"I was on the library phone when I saw you returning yesterday. Dr. Cooper has been kind to me, allowing me to call home every day. With all your friends, I thought you could help me, too."

Reaching up to toss her hair behind her shoulder, Amy said, "When you put it that way . . . I'll speak to the Inspector tomorrow. It's all I can promise, though."

"Thank you. You are very kind."

Another song struck up at the piano, ending their conversation, and Amy looked over to find it was Sheldon seated at the instrument. She watched him play, wishing she could see the way his long fingers caressed the ivory keys. It was not a tune she recognized, but Penny must have because she started singing just as Stuart came by to offer to Amy another drink from his tray. "Water, please," she whispered.

Penny's voice was clear but wistful as she sang:  
 _"_ _I have a feeling, it's a feeling I'm concealing - I don't know why_  
 _It's just a little, incidental, sentimental alibi_  
 _But I adore you, so strong for you_  
 _Why go on stalling, I am falling, love is calling - why be shy?_

_"Let's fall in love_   
_Why shouldn't we fall in love?_   
_Our hearts are made of it_   
_Let's take a chance, why be afraid of it?"_

But it was only Sheldon that Amy saw: his dark eyelashes when he looked down at the keys and then the blue of his eyes when he spotted her across the room. She stared at him and he returned her gaze, not breaking eye contact again, barely even blinking, even as his fingers moved deftly over the notes. She couldn't help but stare into his blue eyes, under his heavy dark brows, as the words swirled and sank slowly in the room.

_"_ _We might have been meant for each other_   
_To be or not to be, let our hearts discover._ _"_

"Miss Fowler, your water."

Amy looked over at the butler, surprised not just to see him there but that he even existed. "I'm - I'm sorry."

Stuart put a hand on her arm, steadying her. "Do you feel faint?"

"No, no. I need to go - go brush my teeth." It was the very first thing that came to her mind, never mind that it didn't make any sense at all. She turned and left for her room, Sheldon's gaze - and those lyrics - still lingering in her mind.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Edward Rochester is, of course, the secretive and brooding master of Thornfield Hall in Charlotte Brontë's_ Jane Eyre _. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are the protagonists in Robert Louis Stevenson's_ Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde _, a tale of science gone wrong._**

**_"Puttin' On the Ritz" was written by Irving Berlin in 1927 and appeared in the 1930 film by the same name._ **

**_"Let's Fall in Love" was written by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler for the film of the same title in 1933. Frank Sinatra made it famous in 1961, but the original song has a much slower tempo. You can hear the original Harold Arlen version on YouTube (search Harold Arlen Let's Fall in Love)._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	15. Chapter 15

"That Frenchie is the last one. What's his name?" As usual, Kripke was starting the day with an insult.

"Monsieur Kibbler," Amy snapped. She had awoken in a foul mood. After difficulty falling asleep, she realized at dawn that she'd never asked for her copy of Leonard's interview back from Sheldon. She couldn't decide which bothered her more: that she'd allowed herself to forget or that he never offered to return the pages. But at least she took some solace in the fact that Leonard had said almost nothing of interest that Amy had not already told Sheldon herself.

She took a deep breath, calming herself. She would have to worry about the transcript later. "He's a geologist. And he's very eager to return home to his family. Just yesterday, he asked how much longer I thought he'd have to stay here."

"He'll stay as long as I need him to. Let him sweat. But it shouldn't take me long to tie everything together."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "You think you've solved the case?"

"It's Cooper, I'm sure of it. I just working on a few details."

Feeling uneasy, Amy didn't reply. She had planned to be honest with him this morning, to tell him that she'd discovered that he went to Oxford with Ramona, Sheldon, and Leonard. She certainly knew she _should_ tell him. But she could not reconcile what Sheldon had told her with Kripke's vindictiveness. Perhaps it was best to wait for word from Dave.

Unless, of course, Sheldon had been playing her for a fool all along.

". . . should wrap up around ten, at the latest. I can't believe he'll have much to tell us."

She'd lost track of Kripke's rambling. "Who? Mr. Bloom?"

"Mr. Bloom? The butler?"

"Yes, I presume we're interviewing him after M. Kibbler."

"Why would we?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Why _wouldn't_ we? He's been around here, everywhere, all the time. He was there right after Dr. Koothrappali found the body."

"Are you saying you think the butler did it?"

"No, because I'm reserving judgment until I have all the facts," Amy grumbled. "I just thought we would."

"Next lesson, Fowler: the butler never does it. These things always come down to money or love and butlers have neither. Trust me."

"I thought you thought the motive here is political."

Kripke grunted. "Fine, that too."

Pursing her lips, Amy smothered a smile. Now that she thought about it, not a single one of Agatha Christie's to-date novels involved a murdering butler. It felt like classism, as though a butler was no more likely to have passions than a pair of asparagus tongs. Is that why Kripke had so quickly discounted her potential role in the crime? Because those in a position to work didn't have the time or intelligence to commit murder? Or, rather, in Kripke's view, the funds or necessary love life? Amy's stomach sank a little. She didn't want him to be correct, but, in truth, she had neither.

But she could not dwell on the topic long, as Bert walked in, his large frame filling the doorway. Amy smiled at him and gave a small nod, hoping to convey that she had passed his question and hope along to the Inspector.

"Kibbler," Kripke started once he had sat down, "geologist at the Sorbonne, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know Cooper hates geology?"

Amy shot Kripke a sharp look.

"But he invited me. And I won the Penrose Medal last year."

"Sure. Great. Anyway. Did you ever meet Cooper before this weekend?"

"No. I have heard of him. He is a genius, like me, now that I have the Penrose Medal. I had only met Dr. Koothrappali; we have collaborated on some details of ancient stone."

"What about Nowitzki?"

"Not that I recall."

"What did you think of her?"

Amy added, "M. Kibbler, we heard that you argued in the laboratory."

Bert looked down. "We did. Something fell out of my pocket during a break and she picked it up. She laughed at it and refused to give it back."

"What was it?" Kripke asked.

"A photograph of my family."

That seemed cruel, even for Ramona, Amy thought. Her impression had been that the deceased woman was always pushing to advance either her career or her social standing, never mind who stood in her way. But mocking a family who had no bearing on either? That was especially low.

"What happened after that?"

"Dr. Rostenkowski said something to her, and the argument shifted between them. Then Dr. Cooper returned from - from stepping out and he yelled for the conversation to stop. He said we should not be discussing politics. I tried to tell him about the photograph, but he was angry and did not wish to hear it."

"I guess you don't like him much, anymore, then?"

"Oh, I like him. And I an accustomed to it. I am large and I prefer rocks to cigarettes, so most of my fellow Frenchman distrust me. But Dr. Cooper, he said I was sad so I could stay."

Amy didn't have the heart to tell him she thought that was an insult. Although Sheldon was correct; perhaps it was his generally slow manner, but M. Kibbler always seemed sad.

Kripke had slipped his hand into his jacket, and Amy braced for the reveal of the swastika pin.

"She was a Nazi, yes?" Bert suddenly asked and Kripke quickly lowered his hand.

Instead, the Inspector asked, "How do you know that?"

"You find her pin. Everyone says so."

The Inspector made a rumbling sound of disappointment. Amy suppressed another smile. She did feel for him that his favorite surprise was thwarted, but she supposed it was too much to ask for such a detail to remain secret and undiscussed. No one was discussing it with her, of course, but surely it was only human nature to gossip and speculate.

"Did that surprise you?" Kripke asked instead.

Bert shrugged. "No. She spoke of her feelings."

"Tell me about the night of the murder."

"English people are loud. I am surprised you did not cause Rayleigh waves." Bert chuckled, the first time Amy had seen him laugh, but even his chuckle was subdued, like everything else he did. "That's a geology joke. Rayleigh waves with an earthquake -"

"We get it," Kripke cut him off.

Previously, Amy had always considered the Inspector's interruptions as pure rudeness. And they were. But now that she knew of his education, she wondered if he just didn't want to be told about something he already knew. Or reminded of what he almost was.

But the remainder of Bert's account of the evening did not vary from almost anyone else's. He heard the argument in the hallway and the gramophone and he, too, ran down the stairs when he heard Rajesh's screams.

"Earlier in the evening," Kripke asked, "you made a phone call in the library, correct?"

"Yes. Dr. Cooper has allowed me to call home every evening, to say good night."

"Bloody hell," Kripke murmured. Then, louder, "Did you see Cooper and Hofstadter while you were there?"

"Yes. They left when I entered."

"Did you happen to notice if Hofstadter - really, either of them - were carrying a small dagger? The one that was used to murder Nowitzki. Or was it still on the desk?"

Bert sat with his face blank, no different than his face always looked. Amy found it curious that he did not have an expression when thinking as many others did. Is this why Sheldon thought he was dull? That and he was a geologist?

"No, I do not recall," he finally said.

A few more questions were asked, but Bert's answers were uninteresting and unhelpful. He seemed a man who was singularly focused on rocks and his family. The interview ended with him asking how much longer he would have to stay in England, which Kripke did not take well, but Amy managed to shoo the geologist out of the room before an argument broke out.

* * *

Since Kripke didn't feel the need to entertain the idea that Stuart might know something other than how to carry a tea tray, they were indeed finished earlier than previous days. Kripke gave her a few quotations for her article and left.

As she had time before lunch, Amy decided to tour the house. Sheldon had given her permission, Mrs. Sparks had told her how beautiful it was, and, more importantly, she was curious. Would have she have snooped around without Sheldon's permission? Probably. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She proceeded down the chilly hallway, beyond the morning room and the billiards room, opening door after door to see what was inside. Each room was cold and hazy with the light diffused through drawn drapes. If it had not been such a sunny day, they would have been dark. The furniture was covered in dust cloths, although Amy did pull up corners to see intricately carved table legs or panels of needlework upholstery from various eras. Some walls were papered but most were paneled and the fanciest of all had gilded designs. Heavy-framed paintings and mirrors hung upon the walls, beautifully complex parquet floors creaked beneath her feet, and large fireplaces stood stately but empty.

Some rooms were dark and masculine, like a room lined with what she suspected were gun and cigar cabinets. She opened a drawer to the stench of stable tobacco. Other rooms were light and feminine, with pastel floral paper and botanical prints in frames. Room after room unfolded beneath her gaze, so many she was at loss to determine what they all must be.

The most ornate was a bright room that seemed to be a music room. In the center of each cream-colored wall panel was a fat, golden cherub playing a different musical instrument. There was a large open expanse near the window, and she suspected that was where the grand piano had previously resided. Under a cloth, she found a table with a musical case and she pulled out a beautiful cherry-stained violin. In the corner, under another cloth, was a harp and a chair, and she sat down, plucking at the strings. Even out of tune as it was, it released a buoyant sound. She'd always wanted to learn the harp, but the instrument and lessons were far too expensive. It pained her that here sat a beautiful instrument, untouched. She closed the door behind her with a sad sigh.

However, all thoughts of harps were forgotten when she opened the next door. This room was different, radically so. It was a corner room, and both sets of drapes were open and sunshine flooded the room. Nothing was covered in a cloth, including the surprising presence of a four-poster bed here, on the ground floor. There were ashes in the hearth and books and personal items scattered about. There were a couple of lamps but also a few candelabras with half-burnt candles. This room was in use.

By one window were an old-fashioned fainting couch with a chair and an easel across from it. On a table nearby was a collection of pastels and charcoals. In another corner, by the other window, sat a larger easel with various painting supplies scattered about. Sheldon must allow Stuart to use this room for his art. But did he sleep here as well? She thought his bedroom was downstairs, as described by Mrs. Sparks. Although, of course, the housekeeper had not been explicit about who slept where.

There was a large drawing tablet on the smaller easel by the fainting couch, and Amy picked it up and started to turn the heavy pages. There were some scenery and little drawings of scenes about the house. She smiled and continued. The next several pages were anatomy studies, a faceless form in various poses. In some, he was clothed and in some he was nude, but he was always positioned in such a way that he did not reveal too much. The man was not muscular, but the drawings were beautifully rendered, every detail very lifelike, including his wooly chest hair. With another turn of the page, Amy almost dropped the tablet. These anatomy drawings, although still faceless, were far more . . . precise. Suggestive. Proud. Some even seemed defiant. Most notable, nothing was hidden behind a cleverly placed leg or turn of the waist. Everything about this man, at least from his neck down, was drawn in the same fearless manner.

Amy did not blush but she did stare. Perhaps it made her a voyeur, but she felt no shame from this man's body. She ran her fingers over it, careful not to smudge the charcoal. How had Stuart achieved this? A human body, like so many others, accurate but also conveying such feeling. The man he had drawn radiated emotions, even without a face. Amy saw - and felt - passion. Freedom. Love, even. And sadness.

For a second, she wondered if it were Sheldon. But, no, she quickly discounted that. Not just because this body did not seem like what shaped his clothes - and here she did blush, just a little, imagining the long, lean nakedness of him - but because she could not imagine him ever posing for such a thing. And, although it was clear he relied upon Stuart, she had seen nothing like this level of . . . attachment in their relationship. Pulling her fingertips away, her eyes followed their trace. And there, along the neck of one of the drawings, just before it faded away into nothingness, was a faint but very clear scar.

"What are you doing in here?"

Amy yelped and almost dropped the large notebook. Rajesh stood just inside the door, in his usual colorful jumper vest and jaunty cravat, but his face, for once, was not smiling. Rather, his posture matched the defiance she'd seen on the page. As did, she knew, his hidden scar.

"Lord Cooper - he said I could look around, see all the rooms," Amy explained, her mouth dry. "I wasn't snooping."

Rajesh closed the door and came close to her, reaching out for the tablet, and Amy let him slide it out of her hands. The act felt intimate, the closeness of their bodies, the secret they were exchanging even without words. He closed the book with care, gently setting back the easel.

"He's a wonderful artist," Amy said softly. She did not see the need to pretend they both did not know what these images represented.

"Is he?" Rajesh said. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen his art."

Amy wrinkled her brow at his obvious lie. She hadn't even mentioned the name of the artist. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I was just passing by. You can get straight to the garden through this hallway. The door was open."

"A flimsy excuse," Amy pointed out. "And the scar -" she pointed to the closed drawing pad "- it's yours. I know you sat for those drawings. Some are upon this very fainting couch." Then, soft again, to coax him into the truth, "Mr. Bloom has rendered you beautifully."

Rajesh gave a sharp, barking laugh. "Although I suppose it would serve us both better if he were not so talented."

"How long?" She should have seen this earlier; the way he accidentally called him Stuart, something usually not done for the butler in a fine house like this. How he knew that he played bridge and how he leaned upon the slender man the night of the murder.

"A couple of years now. I always knew I was . . . different. I tried to date women, of course, but it never ended well. Sometimes I could hardly bring myself to speak to them. Then he started here and . . . we fought it for a while, but in the end . . ." He wouldn't look at her. Instead, he was toying with the pastels on the table.

"Does Lord Cooper -"

"No." This sharp word brought his face up, and Amy saw his brown eyes were hard. "He mustn't. Please don't tell him. If anyone knew, it would ruin us, it would ruin our careers."

"Do you think Lord Cooper would . . .?"

"Turn Stuart out without a reference? Or turn us into the police?" Rajesh asked for her. He sat in the chair with a wary sound, turning his head to look at the bed. "I don't know. He is my closest friend, and I think he is a reasonable man. But he is also . . . His mother was very religious. He mentions it. And he always follows the rules. He won't even jaywalk in the village, and the shopping street is only four blocks long. Oh, God!" His face turned back to her, a newer, brighter fear in his eyes. "Will you tell the Inspector?"

Amy took the time to find another small chair and bring it close to Rajesh, her knees practically touching his, before replying. "I will not tell Inspector Kripke for the sake of telling him." Rajesh exhaled. "But I need to know about that night. What happened? The tea . . . there were only two teacups . . . they were for you and Stuart?" She spoke between pauses, as her mind jumped and connected clues. "It's why it was ready so quickly . . . it was for you."

Rajesh nodded. "We were here - we're here almost every night I visit. I sneak away once it seems everyone has gone to bed. Stuart came after he wound the clocks."

"It's why you never heard the gramophone," Amy murmured.

"The what?"

"Never mind, go on."

"Stuart often makes us tea, in the middle of the night. It's the only chance what have to talk, privately and openly, we stay up late, talking and . . ." He blushed and Amy looked down, to let him gather himself. "Right after he left, I remembered that I wanted him to bring herbal tea, not Earl Gray. I knew I couldn't sleep in, because of the conference. I went after him, hoping to catch him before he went downstairs, but I stopped when I heard voices in the front hall. One was hers."

Amy looked up sharply. "Dr. Nowitzki? And . . . Mr. Bloom?"

"Dr. Nowitzki, yes, but I couldn't hear who she was talking to, they were whispering. But angry whispering, I think, because it sounded like hissing." He paused and Amy gave him an encouraging look. "I hid in the shadows; it was easy to do, only one light is left on, normally, for safety."

"Could you see anything?"

He shook his head. "An occasional movement in the shadow, but I couldn't make anything out."

"What did you hear?"

"She said she had no regrets, that she'd do it again. Something about getting what she wanted. That no one would believe the other person - 'No one will believe you, you're nobody here.' That was it."

"The end of the conversion?"

"I don't think so, but I left, to come back here. I blew out the candles - we aren't using the electric lamps while Kripke is here - shut the door, made sure the curtains were tightly drawn. I was scared we'd been seen."

"Do you think she was talking to Mr. Bloom?"

"I don't know. But he's a nobody here, right? Just a butler? Maybe she was blackmailing him, to get something she wanted? Maybe she'd already told the Inspector? She said she'd do it again, whatever it was."

"Perhaps," Amy conceded softly. Then, to reassure Rajesh, who looked on the verge of a full sobbing jag again, she said, "But the Inspector hasn't said or done anything to imply he knows. As for Lord Cooper, I truly don't think he considers Mr. Bloom a nobody. He gave him this job after his gallery burned down, and, as I understand it, Mr. Bloom isn't just a butler, he does the majority of tasks Lord Cooper needs." She took a deep breath. "But I have to ask: do you think Mr. Bloom murdered Dr. Nowitzki?"

"I can't imagine it. You've seen him, he would hardly harm a fly. But then I think about if it were me, if I had been in the hall and she was trying to blackmail me, would I hurt her to save Stuart? And my job? Maybe I would. So maybe he did." Raj did start to cry at that. It was not the piercing, terrified cries of the night of the murder; instead, his sobs were a sound of such deep, inner despair that Amy's heart broke for him.

Getting up and searching the room for something suitable, Amy discovered a clean-looking cravat by the bed and brought it over for Rajesh to dry his eyes upon. She considered his bright smiles and outgoing personality, his jovial eyes and the way he made every new person feel welcome. The popularity of his magic lantern shows, his fame, his oversized personality. She had thought he was compensating for his mutism as a child, and maybe that was part of it, but he was also compensating for the secret that brought him sorrow. And, she supposed, great joy, here within this room.

"Do you think Mr. Bloom knew Dr. Nowitzki before this weekend?"

"I don't think so. It was the first time she's visited that I know of. But he could have driven Cooper somewhere that she was; they knew each other before."

Amy noted the innocent phrase, a vagary of time she would have missed if it were two days ago. "So I suppose it's possible." She paused. "Mr. Bloom studied art in Europe before coming here?" Rajesh nodded. "In Germany?"

"Mostly France, I think, but he traveled to lots of places. Yes, I think Germany, too."

Now that Rajesh had calmed, Amy led him back to the three nights prior. "You said you came back here and waited for Mr. Bloom. What happened next?"

"He didn't come for what seemed forever, although maybe it wasn't longer than usual. I was so worried about him, about what I'd heard, I was pacing in the dark. So finally I went to find him. I turned on extra lights on the way, to announce myself, just in case she was still there. At first, I thought she wasn't, that the hall was empty, but then I rounded the corner and - and I saw her. You know the rest."

"When did Mr. Bloom arrive?"

"I wasn't lying when I told you I was so shocked and frightened I lost all track of time, so I'm not sure. But not long after."

"Did he come from the servant's staircase? Or elsewhere?"

Rajesh shook his head, and Amy feared his lower lip was quivering again. "I don't know. But where else would he come from? All I know is I was so frightened and suddenly he was there. It was only a moment before everyone else came, but he was there when I needed him."

"You love him."

"Yes." He smiled amid his tears, and it was a sad but beautiful thing.

"Alright." Amy stood. "Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn't easy for you."

Rajesh grabbed her hand, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "You promise you won't tell the Inspector?"

"I'm sorry, I can't." Rajesh groaned. "I don't know yet. I need to think about it. I can't circumvent the law when it comes to murder, Dr. Koothrappali. But I will try to circumvent the issue of . . . this, if I can. But I do not know if it's possible."

"Thank you. For your honesty, at least."

Amy bowed her head, the plaintive nature of his thanks hurting her chest. Then she turned and left the beautiful room, walking slowly through the cold, empty corridor, back to the warmth.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_The Penrose Medal for geology was created in 1925. It's given by Geological Society of America, and, honestly, I can't determine if Bert, as a Frenchman, would qualify or not. However, there were no international geological prizes in the 1930s that I could find. Today, the Vetlesen Prize is the highest honor in geology, but it wasn't established until 1959._ **

**_The British Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885 made any "gross_ ** **_indecency" between men illegal and punishable by two years imprisonment and hard labor (prior to that it carried the death penalty). Hard labor for any crime was abolished in 1945, but the law itself was not overturned until 1967._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	16. Chapter 16

She went to her room to type up the interview with Bert, but instead, once Amy got there, she decided to write as much as she could recall from Rajesh's confession while it was fresh in her mind, although she left out their names, just using X and Y instead. It helped to clear her thoughts; if the facts of this impromptu interview were out of her head, secured on paper, she would not have to worry about forgetting them. The implications of it all - and what she would have to do about it - were more than enough weight to carry around.

Just she finished typing up Bert's interview, a footman brought her usual sandwich but she didn't touch it, her appetite gone. Instead, she reread both sets of papers carefully and then locked them in her drawer. Looking out her window, she studied another bright and beautiful autumn afternoon.

What should she do? Inspector Kripke had left for the day, so she did not have to decide until this evening. Possibly she could postpone it until tomorrow. But she knew that would not do. If she decided she had to tell him, it was best to do it as soon as she saw him again so that he would not think she was hiding information. As she and Sheldon had mentioned more than once, she was not in charge of this investigation.

But Amy had not warmed to Inspector Kripke or his methods over the past few days, despite her attempt to respect him more. He still struck her as sloppy and disrespectful. Even cruel. However, she thought with a frown, her personal feelings were immaterial. The important thing was to discover the murderer so that justice could be served. If only she could find a way of telling Kripke about the overheard conversation Rajesh reported without stating why he was downstairs. She could use his own lie, that he could not sleep and was on the way to the kitchen for warm milk. But Kripke already doubted that story, as well he should. It's why she'd convinced herself she didn't have to tell him about her conversation with Mrs. Sparks, that the housekeeper was only confirming what the Inspector already knew.

And had Rajesh been telling the whole truth? Perhaps he had stayed in the dark and overheard the murder itself. Or did he suppose it was Ramona blackmailing Stuart because he'd heard more of the conversation than he'd let on? He as much as admitted he would murder her to save himself and Stuart; what if he actually _had_? She knew from many a mystery novel that it was easy to dismiss away the person who found the body. But sometimes, the first person to see someone dead was the last person to see them alive.

Lifting her glasses, Amy rubbed her eyes with a heavy sigh. She was talking herself into circles. She needed to do something to help her focus. Her walks with Sheldon had been laced with a conflicting set of emotions, but at least the weather had always been refreshing. Yes, she would walk again, alone this time, to help her order her thoughts.

There were several different exits to the house, but her feet turned toward the library by habit. And because she still had to call an article into _The Herald._ At least, that's what she told herself. So she could not be surprised that he was there, although perhaps it was earlier than usual. He was wearing another combination of jersey shirts and he stood at the French door to the terrace again, but this time he held a flat cap in his hand. When he saw her, he put it on.

So he was expecting her. A walk with her. Amy paused briefly, remembering the way he'd looked at her when he played the piano the night before. But she also remembered the song he'd chosen to play. A song about hidden emotions . . . and alibis. Was it a message of some sort? Amy had tossed and turned in her bed, unable to work it out.

Swallowing, Amy continued toward him. Sheldon opened the door to let her pass before he fell into the step next to her. All without a single word. They walked together in silence, over the broad stones, around the pond, meandering past hedges, until they entered the formal garden. Its curved paths slowed their pace. Amy picked at a loose thread on the bottom of her cardigan, trying to concentrate on how she'd fix it but failing. Her mind kept returning to her conversation with Rajesh.

It was kind of Sheldon to accept her distraction. He didn't press her with questions or force her to divulge what she knew. But, at the same time, she wished that she could share it with him; she had not realized how much she'd come to depend upon their conversions, even when it was just hearing herself say things aloud. His pattern of thought was even more linear and organized than her own at times, and his measured replies were always thoughtful.

She must have uttered some sigh or other expression of dissatisfaction, for Sheldon gently asked, "How was your morning?"

"Difficult," she admitted.

"No luck discovering the murder? No tearful confession in the morning room?"

"No. Not quite. But I discovered several new clues."

"I must admit I fail to see how that makes you unhappy."

Amy suddenly stopped short on the path, and Sheldon turned toward her. "I wish to ask you something . . . let's say philosophical or ethical, I suppose, and I'd like your honest opinion."

"I do not see the advantage to ever giving a dishonest one."

"How do you feel about homosexuality?"

His eyebrows shot up and she read genuine surprise on his face. "Honestly, I can't say I've ever given it any feeling at all." He paused. "I was not raised to. My mother would no doubt disapprove."

"Yes, certainly."

"That's an inference, you understand. She did not speak of such matters. What little I gleaned about sexual matters came via hints from Georgie and it did not sound pleasant at all." He frowned. "Later, there were biology courses that I excelled in, of course, and they touched on procreation in the animal kingdom, but by the time I'd met Leonard, he said I was all mixed up about it. He brought me one of those pamphlets from the women's clinic. It was . . . enlightening. I was pleased to finally have a scientific source, you see, to understand all the mechanics in humans." Amy glanced down at her feet, to give his words privacy. She found Sheldon's direct and honest replies refreshing, but his unwillingness to adhere to the rules of polite conversation startled her at times. "But it did not cover homosexuality. So I suppose I never really considered it."

"Because it's immoral?"

"No, because any expression of physical love baffles me in general. Not the mechanics anymore, but well . . . it all seems frightfully messy."

"So you've never had a sweetheart?" Amy ventured, taking advantage of his open mood.

"No. I never went looking for one. I never considered that there could be a woman similar enough to me."

"If you found there was such a woman, would you consider it?"

"A sweetheart or physical love?"

"Either. Both. They tend to go together . . . eventually."

Sheldon took off his cap, took a deep breath, and looked into the distance. "It's a possibility."

He slapped his thigh with his cap, set it back upon his head, and resumed walking, much more briskly this time. Amy had to skip to catch up.

"Homosexuality, you asked," he continued, back to his usual clipped speech pattern. "It's illegal, of course. Two years hard labor. I've never understood the drive to flaunt the laws of society. Or undertake hard labor without reason."

"But do you think this particular law of society is right? As in just?"

"I don't know."

Spying a stone bench behind them, Amy reached over and tugged him toward it to slow him down, to try and regain that moment on the path. They sat together under a curling vine, the greenery upon it drying up and falling to the ground. She imagined it covered with a profusion of blooms in the spring. Now, it was merely locked potential.

"I think society is wrong," Amy said. "I have never been lucky enough to be loved in that manner - romantically or physically. But I cannot imagine feeling that way, believing that I had found the one person on Earth that was everything I'd ever wanted, but I could not tell them, could not be with them, could not share my life with them. Just the idea makes me sad."

"I have always thought that the greatest potential folly of emotion was thinking you had found that person but find yourself wrong." He did not meet her eyes and instead looked out at the beautiful garden beyond.

"That would be tragic," Amy agreed. "But imagine if you could not even discover if such a person were right there, next to you? Imagine if you met someone and they seemed to be everything - everything you wanted. If they were intelligent and strong and unique. What if you could take everything you loved, like your science and your books and your scholarly debates and you found they were distilled into a single human being? Like a vial in your laboratory, concocted just for you, the sweetest drink you could never take? Oh, Sheldon, don't you think the real tragedy would be if a love like that had to remain silent?"

She sniffed and then reached up to her cheek and found a tear there. She stared at it on her hand, so surprised that she could not fathom where it came from. But then she felt a soft brush against her face and she turned. Sheldon was dabbing at the opposite check with his handkerchief. Amy stopped him as a reflex, and their hands met around the cloth.

"Amy, when you phrase it that way . . ." he whispered. And then cleared his throat. "Are you a homosexual? I've seen the way you look at Penny."

"No." She couldn't help but chuckle and his hand slipped away, leaving her holding his handkerchief. "I'm not. But I believe the emotion is the same, regardless of who I wish to be with." She turned her head and looked out of the corner of her eye. "If I were, would you send me away?"

"No."

"Even if I were a member of your staff?"

"Oh."

Amy grimaced. She'd said too much.

Sheldon swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Well . . . I suppose that if they were discreet, then there would be little risk of harm to me. I would not want trouble with the law - nor for them."

"I'm glad."

"I don't suppose you feel you can tell me who."

"I have already said too much when it is not my secret to tell. But I think, if you consider it for long enough, you already know."

"Perhaps." He paused. "Is it necessary for you to tell Kripke?"

With a deep sigh, she said, "I don't know. But I'd like to avoid it if I could."

He nodded and Amy stood, for once looking down at him. "We should probably start back. I'd like a bath before tea." She held out the handkerchief, handing it back to him, "Here. Thank you. I don't know what came over me."

"No, you keep it. And thank you. I think I . . . I understand something new."

They walked back in a silence similar to how they started the journey, but Amy felt both newly lightened and newly burdened by their conversation.

Only when they reached the library did Sheldon break the silence. "You haven't called in your article yet. I suppose I'm to blame." He pulled off his hat, ruffling his normally straight part. "I was in the library early and I distracted you."

"No, I needed a walk to clear my head," she explained. "But I thought I'd be alone; you've seemed to figure out exactly what time I need the telephone."

"Was I unwelcome?" It was a pointed question, delivered pointedly. Sheldon was good at that. Normally, she liked it. But sometimes it was unsettling. She remembered what Mrs. Sparks had said, that, even as a child, Sheldon was able to look at you in a way that seemed he knew things about you that you didn't even know yourself.

She looked away. "No, you were not unwelcome." Then she whispered, "Quite the opposite."

"Oh. I . . . I am glad. I was worried that you would not wish to walk with me, to speak to me, after yesterday. Because of what you surmised."

Clearing her throat, Amy said, "In regards to yesterday, I neglected to get my copy of the Leonard's interview back."

"Of course." Sheldon moved quickly to the desk, taking his keys from his pocket and unlocking the drawer. He passed the transcript over to her and she quickly glanced through it, making sure it was all in order. "I apologize. I suppose that makes me more suspicious to you. But I promise no one has been in that drawer."

Amy didn't reply immediately for the thought had crossed her mind that morning, when she was cursing herself for leaving something so important in his care. But now . . . "You're nobody here," she whispered to herself.

"What?" he asked. "Who's nobody?"

"Not you," she said, her brow wrinkling as she worked something out.

"Of course not." He stood straighter. "I am one of the greatest minds this nation has ever seen. Move over Michael Faraday, it's Dr. Sheldon Cooper."

Amy smiled. Not at his joke but at something she realized. "No, you're _Lord_ Sheldon Cooper."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that. Why does it make you smile? Because I dislike it?"

"Because you're Lord Cooper and perhaps that is enough." He gave her another quizzical look, but she only ignored it to wish him a good day, effectively sending him away so that she could quickly write her short article by hand on the official Medford stationery from the desk and call it into _The Herald_.

* * *

She had just returned to her room for her bath when there was a knock on the door.

"A telegram, Miss." Stuart held out the thin envelope.

Stuart started to leave as she took the message, but she said, "Mr. Bloom, will you step inside for a moment?"

She thought she detected a pause, but he turned and passed into her room. He looked uncomfortable as she shut the door behind them. "Please, come sit," she said, hoping to put him at ease.

"I'll stand, Miss."

Cursing herself, Amy realized her faux pas. "Mr. Bloom, I'd like to ask you some questions, if I may."

"For the Inspector?"

Amy frowned. She would proceed honestly. "I haven't decided yet." Stuart nodded and she continued, "Have you spoken to Dr. Koothrappali this afternoon?"

"Yes."

She let out a deep breath. At least she didn't have to tell him what she'd discovered, that would make it easier. For her. Poor Stuart was visibly sweating and paler than usual. "Mr. Bloom, I meant what I told Dr. Koothrappali, I will try to keep your secret if at all possible. But I need your honesty in everything else to do so. Do you think you can trust me?"

"What about His Lordship? Without this job, without him taking me in, I would have been homeless. And I'm already underweight as it is. And Raj? He'll be ruined. He'll lose his job and it will be in all the papers, all the details, because of his shows. Like Oscar Wilde. "

"I know I cannot speak for Lord Cooper, but I truly do not think you have a concern from that quarter." At that, Stuart seemed to relax slightly. "Tell me about the night of the murder. Everything you heard and saw."

"Raj -" he stammered, "Dr. Koothrappali, that is -"

"It's alright, just tell it how you like."

"Raj had already come down by the time I went to - to my studio - our - well, you know. I've only been going there once I know the Inspector is back. Then, later, I went downstairs to make tea. It's often what we do. I was just coming back up when I heard Raj start to scream. I was so afraid, I couldn't imagine what it was. I thought someone had hurt him, maybe they'd found our room, because I thought I saw them run away."

Amy gripped the footboard of the bed but didn't interrupt as Stuart continued, "But he was standing in the hall, screaming at the body. I thought, at first, he had done it. I was so frightened, I don't even remember setting the tea tray down, although I must have, because it was there, next to a floral arrangement later. But, Miss, he didn't, I know it. He wasn't bloody at all. There was no way he couldn't be if he'd . . . you know. Right?" Shaking even at the beginning of his tale, Stuart was now practically convulsing.

"Here. No argument, please." She grabbed him by the arm and steered him to one of the chairs by the fireplace, pressing him down into it, British hierarchy be damned. She poured him a glass of water from the pitcher by her bed and brought it to him.

Sitting in the other chair, Amy decided to ask simple things to try to calm him. "You're the one who suggested changing what time of day to wind the clocks?" A nod. "So that you could monitor the Inspector's whereabouts, to protect your secret room?" Another nod. "When you went to the kitchen, did you go via the servants' staircase?" A nod. "Did you see or hear anyone in the hall at that time? Or anything unusual at all?" A shake. "Who knows about the servants' staircase? It's a shorter route from the bedroom hallway and the great hall, right?"

Another nod. "Yes, Miss. Who knows about it? Well, all the staff and His Lordship, of course. Raj uses it at night, to come downstairs unnoticed. The Inspector: I gave him the tour myself in preparation for the weekend. I think Dr. Hofstadter and Miss Penny know, they've been here enough. The stairs aren't a secret, although I think most people don't notice the comings and goings of servants. Although once M. Kibbler saw me coming out and asked me about the door. And, upstairs, it opens right by Dr. Rostenkowski's room so she has surely heard it."

Amy sighed softly. That cleared up almost nothing. "How long were you downstairs? Dr. Koothrappali thought perhaps it was longer than usual."

"It was. After I'd put the kettle on, I heard meowing. The storeroom cat had snuck into the kitchen. She just had a litter, and she was separated from her kittens. I took her back and found her some extra food. I got distracted by them, such little things. But by the time I'd returned to the kitchen, half the water had boiled away so I had to refill the kettle again and bring it back to the boil."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Lord Cooper has cats? I was under the impression he dislikes animals."

"Only cats, Miss. There are, he says, self-cleaning. And they catch mice."

Returning to the serious questions, Amy asked, "Dr. Koothrappali said he overheard Dr. Nowitzki arguing with someone in the hall while you were gone. But you couldn't hear from the kitchen?"

Shaking his head, Stuart said, "No. His Lordship put in insulation to keep the basement warm a few years ago and it blocks everything."

That matched what Mrs. Sparks had told her. "Now, Mr. Bloom, this is very important. You said you thought you saw someone running away. Tell me everything you remember about that."

Stuart took another drink from his glass. "I had just come through the baize door and turned to go out by the staircase to upstairs because it's closer to my room than the going through the dining room. This is the servants' hallway, under the grand staircase, it connects to the servants' staircase."

"I know. I went to the kitchen a few days ago and met Mrs. Sparks; I saw they connected. And you took me down those stairs the morning of the murder."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. It's easy to forget when you don't know where your life is going. Anyway, I just saw someone run up the servants' stairs. They were moving quickly. I thought I was about to call out, but then I can't remember if Raj started to scream already, so I must have imagined that part. Malnutrition, no doubt."

As sorry as she felt for his situation, his constant despair was starting to annoy her. "I can't imagine that Lord Cooper doesn't feed you and pay you well."

"Oh, he does. Bad habit, I guess. Since the Inspector came, I'm been so worried I can hardly eat. I'm just as weak as when I lived in my shop without two pence to rub together."

Too weak to commit murder? Or was it a clever ruse?, Amy wondered. But she asked, "Do you remember if the person running away was a man or a woman?"

"I thought a man because they were wearing trousers. But then, even Miss Penny wears trousers better than I do, so who knows?"

That was a valid point. Penny could have run back to her room and changed quickly; she might have run out of time to put on a dressing gown. And Bernadette was wearing pajamas the night of the murder, and they might be mistaken for trousers. "Other than Lord Cooper's previous guests, had you ever met anyone here before? Maybe in your travels about Europe?"

"I can't be sure. Not that I know of. But, odd that you mention it, M. Kibbler looked familiar. In Paris, I was a janitor in a hospital home for children that were damaged. Most of them had been forgotten."

Amy perked up. "Damaged children? Orphans?"

"No, people paid to keep them there, fed and taken care of. Some were just blind or deaf, some couldn't walk, or were deformed. From families with enough they could pay to forget them."

"That's revolting," Amy said, practically spitting. "We imprison people for who they love but not for who they abandon." She shook her head. "We got off-topic. The room you call yours - is it really your bedroom? I mean, assigned by Lord Cooper?"

"Not exactly. He told me I could use it for my art because the light is so good. Then I moved a bed in; I guess I got used to sleeping in the same cramped room as my art. Nothing puts a person to sleep like the sweet smell of turpentine."

"Did you happen to hear the argument in the upstairs hall, when Dr. Nowitzki said someone was outside her bedroom window?"

Stuart nodded. "I was winding the grandfather clock in the drawing room, and I thought l heard shouting upstairs, but then it was gone by the time I considered going up."

"So Inspector Kripke was outside at the time?"

"Yes."

Amy nodded. "How long have you and Dr. Koothrappali . . . been together?"

"A couple of years."

"And that's when you marked the room off the cleaning list in your office? And, maybe, lied to the other servants?"

Stuart looked at her sharply. "Good eye. Yes, I told the others downstairs that Lord Cooper had given it to me. There are few of us, and I have the senior position, so I knew it wouldn't be questioned. And His Lordship, well, if it doesn't involve him and everything keeps running smoothly, he tends not to notice."

"Mrs. Sparks said you're often up at night, making tea."

"Insomnia. I can't eat when I worried, I can't sleep much even at the best of times; welcome to my life."

Amy reached out and curled her fingers around his fist, clearly surprising him. "I know what it's like not to have what you really want, as freely as you want. Or the money you need. I just can't go back to school. I know it's not the same, but well . . . maybe a little bit."

"You know you could, if you asked. He likes you. He's allowed to like you. And that's the difference."

She pulled her hand away and stood. "Thank you, Mr. Bloom. I think that's enough for now."

The butler stood. "I'm sorry to presume, Miss. It's just that you've been so kind. I have trouble knowing how to react if someone isn't ignoring me or looking at me with contempt."

"Again, Mr. Bloom, really," Amy softly admonished as she walked him to the door, "you're amongst friends here."

"Not until the Inspector leaves. Good day." Stuart nodded and managed to leave with the dignity of butler, but his shoulders still looked slumped.

Amy looked at the closed door. "Perhaps not," she admitted to the empty room.

The unopened telegram caught her eye, and, suddenly aware of any possible wasted time, she ripped it open.

**C graduate teaching assistant. K and N his students. K expelled for cheating. C did not dispute or confirm. Details and patent information to follow by letter.**

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Perhaps the most famous victim of the gross indecency laws in Britain was the writer Oscar Wilde. Convicted in 1895, he served two years in Reading Gaol for his 'crime.' While in prison, he grew ill and weak from the hours on the treadmill combined with poor quality food. He remained in poor health after his release in 1897 and died only three years later. He wrote t_ _he poem_ The Ballad of Reading Gaol _while incarcerated, but_ _the brilliant and witty Wilde never wrote again after his punishment._**

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	17. Chapter 17

Rajesh was back to his usual flashy self by drinks in the drawing room, although Amy noticed the way his eyes met Stuart's when he took a drink from him. It was a tiny thing, unnoticeable without looking.

Trying to distract herself from what Dave's telegram revealed, Amy volunteered for the game of bridge Penny organized and tried to engage Leonard in a conversation about his work and his patents between plays. But she rarely played bridge and made a mistake in her distraction, upsetting her partner Bernadette.

"No more science talk!" Penny declared. "It's too distracting. And it bores me."

After that, Amy looked across the table to her partner. "Bernadette, where else are you planning on traveling here in England?"

"I am hopeful for a few days in London after leaving here."

"I live in London," Amy volunteered, "I could show you around. Take you to the Tower and all the sights."

"Oh, yes!" Penny said. "Leonard and I are going down, too. I would love to tag along. I have a dark wig I can wear."

"Thank you. But if I have meetings, I will not have time to sightsee," Bernadette demurred.

Looking down at her cards, Amy said, "That's too bad. You mentioned how eager you were to see England; it's such a shame you'll be spending all your time in meetings."

"I am hopeful I will be able to return in the future, perhaps for longer."

Just then, dinner was announced.

"Shoot!" Penny threw down her cards. "We didn't even get in a full rubber! Well, we knew we'd have to pick it back up after dinner, anyway."

Dinner proceeded without incident, and somehow reminisces of childhood became the topic of conversation. Amy only shared her love of reading, how she'd defy her mother to stay up late and read by the light of a single candle.

Just as pudding was finishing, Kripke, who had remained surly and uncommunicative throughout the meal, stood. "I have an announcement."

Any lightness from the previous conversation evaporated. Not for the first time, Amy was struck by how easily everyone seemed to forget there had been a murder until Kripke slapped them with the knowledge again. Once he was certain everyone was looking at him, Kripke explained, "I have asked the Superintendent to join us for tea here tomorrow. I will be making an arrest, and it would make my job easier if you would just be assembled in the drawing room. It shouldn't take long. No fuss, please. That is," he turned his body toward the head of the table, "if that's alright with you, Cooper."

Sheldon swallowed. He did not address the obvious insult. "Indeed. Whatever you think is best. I'm sure we're all eager to put this business behind us." Then he, too, stood. "Perhaps we should go into the drawing room. If that's alright with you, Kripke."

The Inspector only offered another of his wolfish smiles, and everyone filed across the hall. But the pallor had been cast, and everyone either sat silently with a drink or meandered around the room, casting about for something to occupy their thoughts. There was none of the jovial entertainments and camaraderie of the previous nights. Even the planned game of bridge was forgotten. Sheldon was the first to make excuses and leave for his room, and everyone else, after another few awkward minutes, followed after.

* * *

After several days of fine autumn weather, it was raining, quite heavily, the next morning. The day was dark and dreary and there seemed to be no promise of a letup. Amy had to turn on the desk lamp to attempt a crossword puzzle but nothing worked out as she hoped.

The rain was especially vexing as Amy felt anxious energy everywhere she went and not just in herself. The dining room was empty when she went down to breakfast earlier, and when Leonard entered shortly after her he barely exchanged five words in his rush to eat. Not that Amy knew what to say, either, other than her comment on the weather. Every other guest or staff member she passed walked briskly, quickly meeting her eye and nodding but not engaging in conversation. She suspected they wondered if she already knew what was going to happen at tea time, and she did not blame them for their discomfort.

What no one knew was that her anxious energy came from waiting for the letter from Dave. She considered telling Stuart about it, stressing the importance of having it brought to her as soon as it arrived, but she decided against it. Although Kripke may not consider him a suspect, she could not help but do so. She felt compassion for his predicament with Rajesh, but that same predicament gave them both a motive for murder, especially if Ramona had been trying to blackmail one of them. No, it was best not to alert anyone of the importance of this dispatch so that the letter would not be subverted.

A walk outdoors would have been an outlet for her frustrations but pacing around her bedroom while listening to the wind lash against the windows was not. Finally, she sat down at her desk and tried again to concentrate on a crossword puzzle. But simple clues about flora and fauna and well-known tidbits of history did nothing to distract her. She could not get the murder or what Kripke was planning for teatime out of her mind.

She set aside the puzzle for the newspaper and took up a clean sheet of graph paper. On every other line, a letter in each square, she wrote the name of each member of the house party: Cooper, Nowitzki, Hofstadter, and so on. Then she wrote clues: swastika, dagger, and others, some that Kripke had considered and some that he had not. Finally, she wrote places: Cambridge, Oxford, Berlin, Paris, Warsaw. There were a pair of scissors in the desk drawer and she used those to cut each small strip apart.

Looking down at the strips of paper, Amy considered them, not as clues to a murder, but as crossword clues. One thing that had struck her over and over again, even before Penny mentioned it that day in her suite, was that everything and everyone here seemed to be connected to at least one something or someone else. There were no true strangers - except maybe herself, although Sheldon was familiar with her work - and so, most likely, there were no true coincidences.

She arranged a few strips at a time, overlapping and rearranging as necessary. She was not doing it match up letters, although it was easy to overlap vowels; rather, she matched up ideas. One strip fit with another if she considered one connection but not if she considered it differently. Which wasn't a failure; even in her themed crosswords, there were filler words. Mere bridges necessary to link a relationship but not part of the overall theme.

Her pulse slowed and her respiration deepened. Her concentration focused. Amy tested one theory and then another. But something was missing. Would it be what Dave would provide in his letter? Leaning back, away from her work, Amy rubbed her eyes and let them relax and wander around the room, from the rivulets of rain on the window to the soft chairs by the fireplace, and then back to the stack of _The Medford Gazettes_ left on the corner of the desk. The most recent issue she had found remained on top.

A pause and Amy saw it. She looked back down at her strips of paper, tore one away, and rearranged the rest. She stood and studied her pseudo-puzzle, not of words but of ideas. She analyzed for errors, misconceptions that could mislead her. And there were one or two assumptions, but they were theories that she felt confident Dave's letter would confirm for her. Because she already knew. Everything fit neatly into a box. And she knew what was inside.

Looking down at the solution, Amy grinned.

Before she could gloat, though, there was a knock at the door, startling her. "Just a moment!" she cried, opening a desk drawer and sweeping the little scraps of paper into it.

It was Stuart. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss, but I wanted to confirm you still wanted your lunch brought up to you. Most of the other guests have asked for lunch in their room today."

So they weren't just unsociable with her. That was a small relief. "Yes, please."

"Very well." Stuart started to walk away, but Amy called him back. "Yes?"

"Is Lord Cooper eating in his room, as well?" The butler nodded. "I think I'll join him there."

She did not give the baffled man time to reply. Instead, she slipped past him, walked to Sheldon's room, knocked on his door, and waited for him to call.

"Oh! Miss Fowler. I thought you were Mr. Bloom with my lunch." Sheldon sat in the same chair he had the morning they breakfasted together. He made no move to get up, although he set down the copy of _Amazing Stories_ he had been reading.

"I know. I'm sorry to intrude, but I thought perhaps we could eat together? I have some things to ask you."

While she had been speaking, she heard someone come up behind her. Sheldon looked over her shoulder and nodded. "Yes, of course. Mr. Bloom, if you please."

As Amy settled into the other club chair, she felt a little guilty of taking advantage of the butler. Was he smarting over the lapse in protocol? Or was it just Sheldon who minded such things?

Waiting until the door was shut behind her, Amy said, "So Inspector Kripke intends to arrest someone at tea." Sheldon grimaced at the topic, but she saw no reason not to state things plainly. "Why the face? He announced his plan last night."

"I know." Sheldon sighed. "The murder was horrific and now one of my guests shall be arrested for it. It's all very . . . distressing. And I hate having my business printed for everyone to read."

Amy frowned and said sharply, "I understand you do not appreciate my dispatches, but I am just doing my job."

His face turned toward her, his eyebrows raised. "I did not mean to insult your work, Miss Fowler. I understand you are doing what must be done. I thought it was clear I'd rather have you do it than a noisy stranger. Or worse, an incompetent one. But I'd rather you had scientific matters to cover instead; your reports on such are always a delight to me."

"Well . . . thank you." Amy cleared her throat. She had not come to upset him, merely to clarify a few things. "I'm sorry I snapped. I think we're all a bit on edge."

Before he could reply, there was a knock at the door and Stuart returned with a trolly covered with a lunch tray. Amy and Sheldon sat in silence as he arranged a few items and lifted the lid of a soup tureen. It smelled lovely, and the idea of a warm soap on such a miserable day was comforting.

After the soup was ladled, the tea was poured, napkins were arranged, and they were alone again, Sheldon said, "I spoke privately to Mr. Bloom this morning."

"Oh?" Amy asked, trying to betray nothing as she lifted her teacup. She knew that the two men, master and servant, no doubt spoke privately every day. But this conversation merited mention.

"I informed him that if he wished to move his bedroom permanently to the same room in which he painted and committed buggery, I had no objections."

"Phhhllpp!" Amy grabbed a napkin and tried to blot up the spilled droplets of tea from her jumper.

"Odd. Mr. Bloom had a very similar physical reaction to my statement. I thought he would be pleased."

"Yes. Yes, well, I think it's the way you phrased it."

"Is it not an accurate description of what you inferred to me -"

"Yes, but . . . never mind. I am glad you have come to an arrangement. Will you speak to Dr. Koothrappali as well?"

"No. I'm sure Mr. Bloom will inform him. We shall not speak of it again."

It was such a stuffy, aristocratic thing to say that Amy smiled softly. She picked up her spoon and spent a few minutes enjoying the meal. Sheldon, too, did not seem in a rush to chat. Unlike Leonard and the other guests she'd seen today, Sheldon exuded calm, his movements as sure and precise as usual. It had been a series of mostly pleasant encounters this week, sitting or walking so companionably beside him, having either stimulating conversation or agreeable silence. So many men, in Amy's experience, rushed to fill the room with the sound of their own voices.

But she was going to have to ask her questions eventually. "Tell me about the poacher last year," she said, tearing off a piece of bread.

"The poacher?" Sheldon looked up and then dabbed at his lips with the napkin. "I don't know what you could wish to know." He paused. "Surely Kripke doesn't think he's related to the murder, does he? The man is locked up."

"I don't think Kripke thinks much of anything," Amy grumbled. Then she explained, "I found some old copies of _The Medford Gazette_. They were in the billiards room, to start fires, but I read them. The last issue was about the poacher, about Kripke's arrest." She paused and took a drink of tea. "His motive was political, too, it seems."

"Oh. Yes, I see your connection." Sheldon frowned. "If it had been a local lad, killing for food for his family, I would have insisted on a slap on the wrist. But if you've read the article, you saw he somehow had it in his head that I'm a Communist just because my mother was American."

"Because of President Roosevelt's policies, wasn't it? And the young man was supposedly a Nazi sympathizer because of it? I have to confess, I read his confession twice and I couldn't follow the rationale."

"That's because it wasn't rational at all. It's why I pushed to have him put away as mentally incompetent, not jailed. Although," Sheldon looked down, "I'm not sure that was the right choice, either."

"It's difficult not knowing the answer to everything," Amy said softly.

Grunting, Sheldon said, "It is not a habit of mine, I assure you."

With a small smile, Amy replied, "But Kripke was very proud. I suppose he should be, finding a criminal and all that."

"It is his job," Sheldon said. "He merely executed an assigned task correctly. By finding a dirty, smelly man using bloodhounds. Not a miracle."

"Do you think it's a miracle he has determined the killer in this case?" Amy asked.

"No, because I don't believe in miracles. I'm not my mother. However, I confess I am at a loss. I just don't understand one of my guests doing this. Look at me! Confessing two things I don't know in the span of a minute. This is a horrible day."

Amy sat her teacup down and leaned closer. "Lord Cooper, if I may, I think I need to tell you something before this afternoon."

The serious tone in her voice caught his attention. "You know who the Inspector is going to arrest?"

"I think so. Inspector Kripke hasn't exactly been circumspect with his opinion. However, I have no idea how he's going to prove it. He hasn't told me. I know he does additional investigating at the police station - phone calls and such - but I am not privy to what he discovers there. So it's possible he was misleading me. But still, yes, I think I know who he will arrest this afternoon."

Sheldon didn't move a muscle, his gaze was so intent on her. Amy took a deep breath. "It's you, Lord Cooper."

"What? How preposterous!" Shock, anger, fear: they all played out in rapid succession across Sheldon's face. "I have very high personal hygiene standards. I wouldn't last a second in prison!" Then fury. "This is all Kripke's doing, I'm sure of it! I should not have trusted him!" Then suspicion. "Wait just a minute. Is this some sort of ruse you cooked up, to try to trick me into confessing?" Amy opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Sheldon's face changed again. "Oh dear. I know we were playing that charade that I was Schroedering's cat, but I tell you the honest truth, Miss Fowler. I did not kill Dr. Nowitzki. Please tell me you believe me."

"I can't." She looked down at her skirt and then back up. The plea was not unexpected. She knew before she came it might be said. But that did not make it easier. "Please understand. I can't believe you or not believe you. I only thought you should know. I want - I can't - it wouldn't be proper - not yet. I'm waiting on . . . something."

"To prove my innocence?"

Amy swallowed. "Honestly, I think it could . . . I wish - That is, I don't know."

"Then why tell me, if you think I am guilty?"

"Because I thought you should know. To prepare yourself. And - and because I need a favor. Your help."

"It's a fine time to change your principles, Miss Fowler." It was harsh, but not unreasonable.

"I know. But I'm asking you to have faith in me."

Sheldon reached for his tea and took a long drink. And then another. "I do. So ask me. Anything."

"I think I know who killed Dr. Nowitzki."

Sheldon tilted his head slightly. "So you disagree with the Inspector. Otherwise, why would you need my help? I suppose that's something in my favor. Although, this too could be a test. But if I were guilty, I would be stupid to deny you; it would only confirm your suspicions."

There was no need to reply. Amy liked to think that Sheldon knew enough about her to know that she had already considered all the possibilities he was now considering aloud. Sheldon continued, "Is it that why Kripke won't listen to you? Because you disagree? If he thinks I'm guilty, I don't see how I can convince him to give your theory any thought."

Amy shook her head. "I haven't told him yet. I want to be sure. I'm still waiting on some . . . evidence."

"Evidence?" Sheldon asked. "From where?"

"I have my sources." Never had Amy felt her head and her heart at such odds. Indeed, she would have argued, until this moment, that the heart was merely a metaphor for the emotions controlled by the brain. "I just hope it shows up on time," she added. "But I need to plan regardless."

"Plan?"

Realizing their conversation has turned into a series of more incredulous questions from Sheldon, Amy apologized. "I'm sorry I can't tell you everything, that I'm being vague. But I need your faith in me for just a little while longer."

"You have it. You always have, you know."

Amy felt a rush of heat to her cheeks but tried to ignore it. "I need to convince the Superintendent to listen to me. Before Kripke makes his arrest. I have things to say. And I need a drawer. Or a cabinet. Somewhere to store the evidence until I reveal it."

"Drawer? Reveal it? Like a chemical explosion?"

With a sad smile, Amy said, "Not exactly. Like Hercule Poirot at the end of a mystery. He assembles everyone and he reveals the truth."

"You'll have to tell everyone's secrets, won't you? Isn't that how that works?"

"Everyone has a motive, remember?"

Sheldon frowned. "And that thing we're not speaking about any further . . . that, too?"

"I'm still trying to figure out a way to avoid it, but I don't see how. I wish it had no bearing . . . but, well, their movements do," Amy replied, mirroring his discreet phrasing.

"All along, I thought I was the cat in the box. But maybe it was you. Like one of your crosswords, all those little boxes. You don't know how frustrating it is. I wish I could have figured you out. And now I'm worried there won't be enough time." Amy ducked her head, Sheldon's words hitting her with more force than his previous outrage. She heard him sigh deeply, perhaps even sadly. "Yes, of course, anything you need. I'll tell Mr. Bloom to meet you downstairs in the drawing room to arrange it."

"Thank you. And I also need two more things . . ." As he listened, Sheldon raised first one eyebrow and then both. Before replying, he paused briefly but then acquiesced without asking what she planned to do with them. He got up to give one to her and promised the second would be delivered to the drawing room. Amy wrapped her palm around what he gave her, feeling the weight of fate in her hands.

With simple thanks and a murmured excuse, Amy stood and made her way to the door. Her bowl was not yet empty, but she was too full of emotions to eat more.

"Just a moment, Miss Fowler." Amy turned back. Sheldon stood in front of his chair. "I don't know if it's helpful, but their movements . . . They often play chess together. I know it's irregular, but if Koothrappali is my only guest and I have something else to do, I don't object to Mr. Bloom being gracious and helping him pass the time. Provided his tasks for the day are completed, of course."

"Of course." Amy smiled. "Thank you. It is helpful."

Sheldon took a small step forward. "Amy, if you aren't successful - and I suppose, possibly even if you are - this may be the last time we speak privately?"

Her heart flopped. They did not need to address why. "I suppose it is."

He crossed the room, standing near to her. Amy watched him closely, her breath quickening as he approached. There is so much she had left unsaid, so much she had hidden away. Sheldon was correct; there was not enough time.

Her unoccupied hand was lifted, and she looked down as Sheldon cradled it in his palm. She watched as he raised it and pushed the sleeve of her jumper up. His palm smoothed along the exposed skin of her forearm, sending frissons up her shoulder. Then, he tipped forward and Amy's eyes met his above her wrist. Her breath came in shallow pants. Without looking away from her face, he settled a small, tender, warm kiss on her arm, on the flesh where it first covered her veins, protecting them and hiding them from the world. A kiss so light it shattered her pulse and so soft her breath caught on its edges. Just as gently, he lowered her hand and stepped away without a word.

Amy turned and opened the door, fleeing to her room before the first tear fell. She reached up to catch it but it spilled onto her forearm instead, washing away the kiss where she had never been kissed before.

* * *

Later, after drying her tears and meeting Stuart to help him arrange the drawing room, Amy took a long, hot bath. In the water, doubts plagued her. What seemed so clear during her crossword puzzle exercise earlier had been blurred by her tears. The promised letter from Dave had yet to arrive, and, against her better judgment, she told Stuart how urgent it was and instructed him to bring it to her immediately. Without it, she had a theory - a very sound one, she thought - but little else. Clues to secrets, yes, but not enough. Without the letter, she knew she would be scoffed at, perhaps not even listened to, and Lord Cooper would be led away.

Of course, the contents of the yet-to-arrive letter were unknown. Inspector Kripke could be correct. Lord Cooper could be guilty of murder. Everything hinged on Dave's letter.

Clean and dry, Amy stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her choices. She pulled on the new jumper Penny had given her. It was more snug than what Amy usually wore but it fit. The cream color went with the brown skirt from her traveling suit, and she studied the effect in the mirror. Was it professional enough? Serious enough? Confident enough?

A knock at the door startled her, but it was Stuart, holding out an envelope.

"Miss -"

"Thank you." She did not let him finish as she grabbed the letter from him and shut the door in his face. An apology could be given later. For now, her heart pounded as she ripped into the envelope. Dave's scrawl was terrible and she squinted as though that would clear it up. Nevertheless, she read the words quickly, hungry and eager and frightened. Once and then twice to be certain she understood.

Amy cried out, pressing the pages against her chest and leaning her head against the panel of the door, as her emotions spun and settled into place, secrets and clues crossing and uncrossing into the grid in her mind.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_American president Franklin D. Roosevelt's New Deal policies were loudly criticized by so-called Old Right conservatives of the 1930s, who believed he was creating too large of a government with too much spending, something that some saw as the hallmarks of_ _Communism. Although this criticism was much more common in the United States than in Britain, it did exist there as well._ **

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	18. Chapter 18

_Note: This chapter contains a spoiler for the novel_ Murder on the Orient Express _by Agatha Christie. Insomuch as an extremely famous 87 year old book can be spoiled . . ._

* * *

Everyone had assembled early in the drawing room for tea. That was interesting, Amy thought; just as if no one felt the need to flee after Kripke's announcement ( _Had that been his hope?_ she wondered), no one seemed reluctant to attend the arrest. It seemed, though, that there was confusion on how to dress for such an event. Most guests, like Sheldon and herself, wore day clothes, although not as casual as they had been wearing. Sheldon was back in his well-tailored gray suit, and Leonard and Penny also both wore somber day suits, Penny's even in black. Bernadette wore one of her pretty floral dresses, this one with a jabot ruffle about the neck, but both Howard and Bert were the most well-dressed, already in their evening tuxedos.

Stuart and a footman brought in two trolleys laden with the usual scrumptious tea of Medford Hall, but Amy noticed no one took any of the sandwiches, biscuits, or scones. Perhaps, even if they were innocent, their stomachs were in just as many knots as hers. It was all she could do not to pace in front of the fireplace, which she noticed had been lit to further ward off the chill of the afternoon. Just as Stuart was passing over the last cup of tea, Kripke and the Superintendent entered, causing a ruffle of murmurs.

The Superintendent wore his official uniform, complete with epaulets, and he came to shake hands and say a few quiet words of greeting to Sheldon. He was a slight man with large round spectacles, which made him look a little like a turtle. He looked serious but calm and that made Amy feel better. He introduced himself as Superintendent Siebert. "Unsavory business," Amy heard him say. Indeed.

Kripke, too, was in a uniform, one that looked pressed for once, although his was more simple than his superior's. Neither he nor the Superintendent took tea, and Stuart wheeled the trolleys to the back of the room and started to leave.

"Mr. Bloom, perhaps you should stay," Sheldon said, and everyone swiveled their heads to look at the butler, including Kripke and the Superintendent.

The poor man, already thin and pale, seemed to shrink and whiten further under the scrutiny. Amy saw the look on a couple of faces, a wonder if Stuart was the murderer. "Just in case there's a question for you," she added to Sheldon's order, and everyone switched their gaze to her. Realizing it was awkward of her, she quickly sat down in the closest chair.

Kripke walked to the fireplace, just in front of Amy, and Amy thought he'd never looked more proud; either it was the buttons on his uniform or he had his chest puffed out further than usual. "Ladies and gentleman, as you are all aware, a murder took place here five nights ago. I have the necessary duty of -"

"Wait!" Sheldon ordered from where he still stood.

"What is it, Cooper?" Kripke snarled.

"Miss Fowler has something to say. She discovered something yesterday that is important."

"Who is Miss Fowler?" asked the Superintendent from the chair he had taken off to the side, as a spectator.

"Nobody. Just my transcriptionist," Kripke answered.

Amy stood to identify herself. "I am not just a transcriptionist, and I am most certainly not yours." She struggled to keep her voice calm.

"Miss Amy Farrah Fowler," Sheldon supplied, looking over at Kripke's superior. "She's a reporter for _The Herald_ , she's been covering the crime. She was invited here as my guest, though, before the murder, and I think you should listen to what she has to say. I think it's pertinent."

"If this discovery is so important, why wasn't I informed?" Kripke practically spat.

"Because you were never in the house, in a position to have a private conversation, since the last interview," Amy answered. "You always left for the station."

"Where I was doing my job. My job, Miss Fowler, not yours."

"Let's hear it," Superintendent Siebert said. He looked over at Kripke. "We'll have to eventually, anyway. Better to know it now, well before any trial."

The Inspector made a face but didn't reply. Amy moved to stand next to him in front of the fireplace, facing everyone else. Kripke stepped away and crossed his arms, glaring at her. Sheldon sat down in her empty spot.

Amy took a deep breath and looked out at the collection of expectant faces. There were not so many people, only ten altogether, but it seemed as though she was presenting to thousands.

"I discovered yesterday that someone - two someones actually - were close to the hall near the time of the murder." She noticed Rajesh grip the edge of his chair. "What I learned was that both Dr. Koothrappali-" the grip tightened and Stuart shifted his stance in the back of the room - "and Mr. Bloom suffer from insomnia. Sometimes, when they are both up, pacing the house at night, they play chess together in the library."

Bert gasped slightly. "With the butler?"

"Well, chess is one sure way to put me to sleep," Penny whispered but loud enough for everyone to hear. "Oh! That's why Raj always sleeps in so late when we're here."

Rajesh's grip on the chair relaxed, although Amy noticed beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Stuart leaned over at the waist in the back of the room, his hands on his knees, and Amy wondered if he was fearful of fainting.

"The night of the murder, they were both up, unable to sleep, isn't that correct?" Both men nodded from their places, Stuart having managed to struggle upright. "They were in the library playing chess when Mr. Bloom left to make tea -"

"Wait a minute," Kripke interrupted, "Koothrappali didn't say anything to us about playing chess. He said he couldn't sleep, so he went to the kitchen to get some milk. Are you saying he lied?"

"Yes," Amy admitted. "But you knew that, didn't you? You questioned him in great detail about going down to the kitchen. But didn't you see the reason for his lie was the same reason you doubted he went to the kitchen: because fraternization with the staff is considered inappropriate, isn't it? Dr. Koothrappali thought that his lie about going to the kitchen, while considered improper, at least only involved him and he didn't have to implicate Mr. Bloom in their late-night chess matches."

"She's right," Rajesh volunteered. "I didn't want to get Mr. Bloom into trouble. We all know how bad Sheldon's temper is."

"Is not," Sheldon grumbled, but everyone ignored him.

"Chess with the staff in the middle of the night?" the Superintendent asked. He made a _tsskk_ noise. "Most irregular, Lord Cooper."

Sheldon nodded slightly in his direction, appearing to take the small admonishment to heart. Amy continued, "Yes, but in this case, we learned two things. Mr. Bloom left the library to make tea, but then Dr. Koothrappali went after him, and that's when he overheard a conversation in the hall. A conversation with Dr. Nowitzki."

"What?" Kripke bellowed, stepping forward, in Rajesh's direction. "Why didn't you say all this in your interview?"

"I don't really know," Rajesh said. "I was so nervous and I was very upset about finding the - her just a few hours before you questioned me."

"Why don't you tell us what happened, Dr. Koothrappali?" Amy encouraged, with a gentler tone.

Rajesh put his teacup down on the table next to him and recited a very similar sequence of events that he had told Amy: the desire for different tea, hiding in the shadows when he heard voices, one voice clearly Ramona but the other unintelligible, that he couldn't see either of them, the things Ramona said, ending with "'You're nobody here.' I remember that, because I thought it was very personal."

At the repeated phrase, Amy saw Bernadette and Howard lean forward slightly in their seats and look at each other. Interesting.

"At least it doesn't change anything," Kripke said.

"It doesn't?" Leonard asked.

"No. Koothrappali never saw or heard the other person, we only have his word about what Nowitzki said, and then he ran away. She could have been talking to anyone, not her murderer."

"But the timing doesn't work out," Amy said.

"The timing?" the Superintendent asked.

"Yes. You see, this was immediately after Mr. Bloom had left to get the tea. And then, when he returned, via the servants' staircase - well, you tell them, Mr. Bloom."

Stuart repeated what he saw, the shoes and trousers running up the servants' staircase and, mere seconds later, the screams from Rajesh when he discovered the crime scene. Several gasps went around the room.

"I agree, it seems like the conversation must have been with the murderer," the Superintendent said slowly. "But neither of you heard the poor woman scream or fight?"

Stuart only shook his head, and Rajesh answered, "I went back and shut the - the library door, trying to figure out what it all meant."

"Maybe she didn't scream," Amy said. "We all heard Dr. Koothrappali scream when he found the body, but no one reported hearing her scream. I didn't. She knew her attacker from here, in the house. I'm sorry to be so gruesome, but it was a very close attack, directly to the heart. Inspector Kripke told me the doctor said her death would have been almost instantaneous."

"Mon Dieu," Bert murmured, just as he had the night of the murder.

"It still doesn't change anything," Kripke argued, "since neither of these men can tell us _who_ they saw. Now, where was I? That's right, I was going to make an arrest based on evidence, not heresy."

"Wait." Sheldon stood again. "Superintendent Seibert, if I may, Miss Fowler has several more things to share -"

"More discoveries?" Kripke sneered.

"- and I would consider it a personal favor if you would be so kind as to listen to everything she says," Sheldon continued.

"Lord Cooper, you know you have my respect, but this is most irregular. The young lady isn't on the police force, is she?" the Superintendent replied.

"No. She reads Agatha Christie and she thinks this is just a bloody book!" Kripke argued. "You know everything in those books is rubbish."

"I assure you, I do not think this is just a novel, Superintendent," Amy said. "This is a very grave situation and the only thing I want is to see is justice served by arresting the correct person."

"Isn't that what we all should want?" Sheldon asked. "All you are sacrificing is time, Superintendent. A rigorous scientific investigation may take years; this will only be an hour at most. Have some sandwiches, listen to what she has to say, ask all the questions you like, and then you can decide for yourself if it's hogwash or not."

Still sitting in his armchair, the Superintendent looked back and forth between Kripke, Amy, and Sheldon. Stuart, in a stroke of what Amy would later recall as brilliance, appeared at the man's side with a cup of tea and plate of sandwiches and cakes. "Again, it's most irregular, but Lord Cooper is correct. I don't want to arrest the wrong person. I'll hear what the lady has to say."

"But Superintendent!" Kripke protested.

"Sit down, Inspector Kripke. And I happen to enjoy Agatha Christie a great deal. Miss Fowler, please proceed." Superintendent Seibert picked up a scone, still warm and slathered with butter by Stuart.

Amy waited until Kripke took an empty seat on a sofa, crossing his arms and staring daggers at her. She ignored him.

"From the very beginning," Amy began, "we've assumed the motive was political. Even before the Inspector found the swastika pin in Dr. Nowitzki's room, she made no effort to hide her political beliefs. We all heard them - at dinner, and, I understand, in the laboratory." Several of her listeners nodded.

"So, if the motive was political, we have to ask ourselves who hated Germany or the Nazis the most or who might suffer the worst if their fascist agenda gained political ground here, in England. Or perhaps even in other countries; this is an international conference. And something that struck me almost immediately was that every single person in this room has such a motive." Several guests turned to look at the person next to them.

"Let's start with Lord Cooper, shall we? He, as we all know, hates and forbids any political conversation in the house. And, as Dr. Koothrappali pointed out, he has a terrific temper. This is because his elder brother died because of the War, slowly killed by German mustard gas, forcing Lord Cooper to take on this role he did not desire, thwarting his career ambitions."

"It's true," he said. "I don't deny it. My brother, not the temper."

"But could this hatred extend to all those that upheld the current political outlook of Germany? There is concern that the Nazis are engaged in saber-rattling that might lead to another war. And what about Dr. Nowitzki herself? Was she enough of a representative to murder her? What if she had, as it seems she hoped, managed to marry Lord Cooper? What if Lord Cooper, a proud and temperamental man, found himself married to the enemy?"

"I could just not propose marriage to her," Sheldon said.

Amy looked directly at him. "Could you? Just as you could just not invite her this weekend? Or stop her endless letters to your home? Penny said you seemed naïve when it came to Dr. Nowitzki." Amy turned before he could answer. "Speaking of Penny, what is her motive?"

"Good! Something I've been wondering myself!" the beautiful actress joked.

"I noticed how devoted Dr. Hofstader is to you, Penny," Amy said.

"I should hope so. I'm her husband," Leonard replied.

"Of course. And, she, too, is devoted to you. As you say, as it should be. And Dr. Nowitzki verbally attacked Penny after she warned Lord Cooper away, so chivalry could be a motive."

"Do you really think I'd go to such extremes over a catfight? About _Sheldon_?" Leonard asked.

"Maybe. Because of how much you love Penny. And yet, you seem such opposites, don't you? Different careers, different hobbies, and so on. But, of course, while Penny is acting, Dr. Hofstadter has his scientific patents - several patents, mostly for the military. There could a motive there, possibly theft."

"I don't actually work for the military and even if I did, Dr. Nowitzki was English. England is our ally. Besides, Sheldon had everyone sign a confidentiality agreement to prevent intellectual property espionage."

"I'm glad you brought that up. Dr. Nowitzki accused Penny of being secretive. And, as I've discovered, she is. Oh, she tries to hide it, with her jokes and chumminess, but it, too, is all an act. Why was she hiding in her room the days of the conference, deferring my promised interview? Why is she so vague about what she does here or what she does while Leonard goes to London? Furthermore, Dr. Hofstadter, Lord Cooper told me the agreement was _your_ idea. Of course, almost everyone here, everyone who signed it, knows the real reason why."

Penny set down her teacup not meeting Amy's eye. Several others shifted in their chairs. "All patents," Amy continued, opening the drawer to the side table that she so carefully placed earlier, "have to be registered by the patent office with all the inventors listed. Do you know how Dr. Hofstader's patents are registered in the United States?" She pulled out a sheet of paper and pretended to read it. "To a Leonard Hofstader _and_ to a Penelope -"

"Stop!" Penny yelled, her fingers splayed in front of her as though she could catch her last name before it touched anyone's ears. "Fine. I admit it. Leonard and I have science in common. We work together. I couldn't do your interview because I was out in the laboratory myself."

A soft murmur went about the room. Not of surprise, for everyone but Amy and the police officers already knew the truth. But perhaps, Amy hoped, of appreciation.

"So now we can conjecture that Dr. Hofstadter and Penny had the same motive because they're a team. We only have their word that Dr. Nowitzki's jealousy was over Lord Cooper. What if it were instead over their work? They have several valuable patents to their names. Except they came here with one that isn't fully patented yet, correct? You're all probably familiar with the theory of magnetic tape and reel-to-reel recording, but what you may not know is that Penny has perfected it."

Amy reached over and flipped on the gramophone sitting on the table, the one she had discovered in Ramona's room. Except she didn't lower the needle, she just flipped the switch on the device sitting inside. Strains of the same sad song that played on repeat the night of the murder filled the air, drowning out the rumble of amazement from several.

"How did you -? Where did you -?" Penny stopped and then started.

"Dr. Hofstadter gave it to Lord Cooper for safekeeping after the murder. It's been in Lord Cooper's safe," Amy raised her voice over the music. "So that it wouldn't be stolen a second time. Isn't that right?"

Leonard and Penny exchanged a look, and then Penny nodded. "Yes."

"Dr. Nowitzki didn't repeatedly play this because she liked it so much. She did it to flaunt her theft. And you were determined to get it back." Amy reached in the drawer again and pulled out the scrap of pink lace. "I believe this is a feather dropped from the mysterious bird Mr. Wolowitz saw through his window."

"Ah-ha! I knew it was important!" Howard cried.

"I told her to wait," Leonard said, "that I'd talk to Sheldon the next day, that he could get the recorder back from Dr. Nowitzki."

"Not since he'd told her off!" Penny protested. "It should have been so simple. Just crawl across the ledge, sneak into her room - surely she was sleeping or in the bath or something - and see where she had it and what she was doing with it. I just wanted to prevent her from taking it apart, from figuring out how it works. But she saw me and made a big scene. I had to run away."

"And you ripped your dressing gown?" Amy added. Penny nodded.

"You should have worn black," Bernadette volunteered.

"Well, yes, I know that _now_ ," Penny snapped.

Switching off the gramophone, Amy said softly, "So the question is, did Penny or Dr. Hofstadter lure her downstairs later?" Before they could answer, Amy said, "M. Kibbler."

"Oui? Er, yes?" His teacup rattled in its saucer.

"You argued with Dr. Nowitzki the day of her murder, didn't you? Everyone in the laboratory saw it."

"Yes. She stole from me. Apparently, she steals from many people."

Amy tilted her head in agreement. "Every time I talk to you, M. Kibbler, I notice what a devoted family man you are. Admirable as that is, is that motive enough for murder? Lord Cooper said she stole a memento of yours. You told us she made fun of the appearance of your family. Mr. Wolowitz said you argued over the mentally ill. He did not understand the connection and blamed it on his English." Once more, Amy reached into her drawer of clues. "Is this your daughter, M. Kibbler?"

She walked closer and held the photograph out to the Frenchman, who took it with a gentleness that looked strange to his large hand. He looked down at it with a soft smile. "Daphne is strong and brave. People want to bury her, to hide her, but she is my rock, as you English say." He chuckled sadly. "I thought I knew them all, and then I found her. My greatest geological find."

"She's beautiful," Amy said. "Where is her mother?"

M. Kibbler shook his head. "I should not have married her. Others told me she only wanted me for my money, but I thought we were happy. La passion! Until Daphne came. She refused to even hold her own daughter, to look at her. She left the same week. I took Daphne to a place I thought would care for her but I could not leave her there, so I took her home. She is perfect. There is an older woman now, a governess. We keep to ourselves, away from the eyes of strangers."

"Dr. Nowitzki wasn't just saying your daughter was ugly, was she?" Amy asked, prodding carefully.

"No. She said . . . she said she was not fit to live. That we should stop such things. That it must be my fault, that I carry the disease that caused this."

"Sadly, I think she was not alone in this belief. Dr. Rostenkowski, can you enlighten us?"

The petite scientist sat up straighter. "I am not certain what you mean."

"You work for the German government. I know -" Amy put her hands up "- not by choice, all university research is considered for the government now. And you've made no secret of how much you loathe that change."

"It is true."

"And that is where you first met Dr. Nowitzki, correct? She came as a visiting researcher a few months ago, a cultural exchange, and you instantly disliked her. At first, I thought it was because she had learned a state secret. But she was a Nazi sympathizer, so surely you were not afraid she would share this with Germany's enemies. But then I thought perhaps you _wanted_ her to share it, and she refused. What is the secret you wanted out, that you hoped Dr. Nowitzki would share with the English, perhaps with the world?"

"They call it Zyklon B," Bernadette said, her voice softer than Amy had yet to hear. "It is a pesticide. I was assigned to find an antidote for accidental inhalation. I thought I was doing good, finding help for accidents at work, for farmers or fumigators. But it is not for accidents on the job. It is for anyone who gets too close to . . ." Her voice wavered off. "They are going to kill them . . . anyone they consider defective, even children."

Silence rose and settled in the room. Amy did not try to fill it; she let the horror sink into everyone's consciousness. Instead, she reached into the drawer again.

"An application to the Academic Assistance Council. I found it on Lord Cooper's desk in the library. For those who aren't familiar, their goal is to assist academics who wish to flee Germany, to help them find positions here in England. You were not eager to see England for her beautiful countryside, were you, Dr. Rostenkowski? You need to flee Germany, the sooner the better, and you needed a sponsor, someone wealthy and prominent. Lord Cooper would do. It's the primary reason you accepted his invitation."

Bernadette nodded. "Yes."

"Mr. Wolowitz," Amy turned her body slightly, and the always fidgety man jumped in his chair, "why, though, has this become so urgent for Dr. Rostenkowski?"

"Because she hates what the Germans are planning," he said.

"But why now? What has changed?" Amy looked around the room. "Will you tell us how you and Dr. Rostenkowski met?"

"She came to my university for a fellowship."

"And your families lived nearby? Close enough that you often met at a Jewish bakery for conversations. But not just conversations. How long have you been married?"

Everyone in the room made a sound, except for Penny, whose mouth formed a perfect O.

Howard sagged back into his chair and shrugged. "A year, almost. Our plan was for her to move to Warsaw, to work there. Her family is there. But she went back to Germany and that woman - she saw it - she was going to tell. Leaving would only be suspicious."

"What did she see, Dr. Rostenkoski?"

The blonde reached up and unbuttoned the placket holding the ruffled collar of her dress. There, framed beautifully in the divot of her neck was a golden Star of David. "I converted for Howie. For our marriage."

Howard left his place and squeezed himself next to her, putting his arms around her. Bernadette buried her face in his neck, her cool composure breaking into sobs. "She is the perfect wife. Loud and bossy."

"So _she_ did it?" Kripke suddenly stood, his voice startling Amy away from the tender scene. He was pointing at Bernadette. "Well, I was half right, then. I told you, Fowler, they were in cahoots."

"Perhaps. But the problem I first realized is still a problem. Every single person in this room has a motive -"

"Not Koothrappali," Kripke interrupted. "You haven't mentioned him."

Taking a deep breath to still her suddenly beating heart, Amy said, "Dr. Koothrappali is friendly with everyone, surely you have noticed that. He has even formed a very fast friendship with Mr. Wolowitz, just in the few days we have been here. He could have easily been privy to everyone's secret."

"I knew them all," Rajesh volunteered, his words coming in a rush, "I knew them all!"

A few quizzical looks were exchanged and with good reason. But Amy allowed the lie she had hinted at to stand. She continued, "Also, there's his own trip to Germany. He claims he went to see about a planetarium for the University of Cambridge, but they don't even have an astronomical association. Dr. Koothrappali has to work under the aegis of the Department of Archaeology."

Rajesh shrugged. "I had hoped Sheldon would help. But there was nothing else to my trip, I promise."

Still standing, Kripke asked, "Are we just going to take his word for it?"

"Sit down, Kripke," Sheldon ordered. "Allow Miss Fowler to finish. Her mind is more logical than yours. Your interruptions are only confusing the issues."

Amy took Sheldon's assistance without offense and merely looked over to meet his eyes.

"Yes, Inspector, let her finish," the Superintendent said, as Stuart stood over him, refilling his cup of tea. "I say," he murmured, "these scones are exquisite. My compliments to your cook, Lord Cooper."

Attempting to suppress her smile, she reached into the drawer once more as Kripke sat back down, grumbling under his breath as he did so. She tucked her next clue into her palm as she spoke, "It was all too much. It confused me, from the very beginning. Everyone had a motive, anyone could have taken the dagger from where Dr. Hofstadter lost it in the drawing room, anyone could have met Dr. Nowitzki downstairs that evening. I even, briefly, considered that you had all done together, like Mrs. Christie's sensational book last year, _The Murder on the Orient Express_."

"Oh! That was a good one!" the Superintendent said. "Never saw it coming."

"But something else nagged at me, too. None of you seemed concerned in the least. No one hid from the Inspector's questions or ever tried to leave, even after he announced his arrest a full day in advance. Yes, you all tried to hide your secrets, to varying degrees, but no one lied about disliking her and her politics. It always came back to that." Amy held up a tie pin she had borrowed from Sheldon. "This is not the swastika pin Inspector Kripke found in Dr. Nowitzki's room. But what if the pin, and everything it stands for, was muddling the issue? Yes, Dr. Nowitzki was a Nazi sympathizer. Yes, she espoused horrific ideas. But what if she didn't have a formal affiliation? Or what if that doesn't matter? What if we take politics and international intrigue out of the puzzle altogether?" Amy let the small tie pin fall into the drawer with the muted clatter of metal against wood. She looked around the room, noticing how everyone had stilled their cups or even the sandwiches a few had started to enjoy. They all sat riveted, frozen in their actions.

"What are we left with? A completely different motive for murder."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Zyklon B is a cyanide-based pesticide invented by the Germans in the 1920s. It was used to kill over one million people in gas chambers during the Holocaust.** _

_**The Academic Assistance Council was formed in 1933 to provide practical aid to academics forced to flee Nazi Germany, including finding placement within the British university system. Now called the Council for At-Risk Academics, it continues to aid scholars around the world whose work is threatened by oppressive governments and hostilities.** _

**The Murder on the Orient Express** _**by Agatha Christie was published in Britain in January 1934. It remains not only one of her most popular books in terms of sales but also one of her most critically acclaimed novels.** _

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	19. Chapter 19

At that moment, Amy understood what had driven Penny to the stage and the screen. And Kripke to pull out his handkerchief during interviews with such a flourish. There was a power in the theatrically of her actions, the expectation of what she would say, the sound of the pin in the drawer, the explosion of shock around the room as voices tumbled over each other.

"I say!" the Superintendent sputtered from the chair where he, too, was engrossed in what she was saying.

"Pphhht!" Kripke cried. "What other motives could there be? I found that pin in Nowitzki's jewelry box, and it explains everything. You saw it."

"But I didn't," Amy argued. "I looked through the box and it wasn't there. Then, when I came back into the room from the ledge, you reported that you had found it by dumping out the contents."

"As a good police search should. You just missed it because you were too timid when you poked around."

"Or maybe you placed it in the pile while my back was turned and then claimed to have found it."

"Claimed!" went an echo around the room.

"Why would I do that?" Kripke's voice rose. "And where would I get a swastika pin in the first place? I'm not a Nazi."

Amy reached into the drawer again. "It is like a magic show," Howard quipped. "Maybe she will pull a rabbit out next."

Holding the broadsheet open in front of her, so everyone could see the photo, Amy explained, "This is an issue of The _Medford Gazette_ from last autumn. Kripke had arrested a young man for poaching here on Lord Cooper's estate."

"I suppose you're going to tell us he didn't do that, either," Kripke grumbled.

"No, he did. He confessed," Amy answered. "He confessed that he did it for political reasons. Because Lord Cooper is half-American and, in this poacher's deranged mind, that automatically meant half-Communist. His confession is quoted here; it's quite the rambling political treatise." Amy passed the newspaper over to the Superintendent. "Tell me, Superintendent, what do you notice about the man's shirt?"

"It's torn on his chest."

"And," Amy turned again, "maybe Penny will enlighten us as to what can tear open one's shirt at the chest."

"Oh! I know! A brooch! When somebody yanks at it!" Penny answered, leaning forward in her chair. Then, as a not-quiet-enough aside to Leonard, "This is so good!"

"Exactly." She looked over at Kripke. "Does any of this sound familiar, Inspector?"

"It - it fell off!" the Inspector protested. "The dogs circled him and he had to crawl low through the brambles to get out, and his shirt ripped. I didn't yank anything off."

"Except maybe alone in his -"

"Howie!"

"But why?" Leonard asked. "Why fake the pin? And the political motive? How would that help Kripke find the murderer? It seems at odds with his job."

Amy smiled at the bespectacled physicist. "Good question. Actually, I have you to thank for the answer. You said it yourself, and I didn't catch its meaning at the time. Dr. Koothrappali and I were the last to arrive here on Friday; all the other guests were in place. You and Penny and Dr. Nowitzki and even the Inspector had all been here for at least several hours before my arrival, correct? Some of you even came the preceding Monday?"

"Yes."

"And a few of you had met Dr. Nowitzki or Lord Cooper even before this weekend. So every time someone said 'before,' I thought they meant before I arrived. But you kept saying to Kripke, during your interview, the words 'you know.' I thought it was a sloppy American colloquialism or a tic of hesitation. But you meant it, didn't you? Kripke _already knew_ what you saying and implying about Oxford when both he and Dr. Nowtizki were studying with you."

Internally, Amy noted the way Sheldon sat his teacup down, uncrossing his legs, sitting up straighter. But she kept speaking to Leonard, "And then you were very angry when Kripke implicated Lord Cooper in the murder, unreasonably so, I thought. Tell me, Dr. Hofstadter, what does Inspector Kripke know about the past?"

"Well, um," Leonard shifted, "I knew he hated Sheldon since Oxford. Because he was almost expelled for cheating in Sheldon's class. The same class he had with Dr. Nowitzki. It was she who turned him in. I wasn't in that class, but Sheldon told me back then."

"That has nothing to do with this!" Kripke stood up. "I have moved on, I have another career. It means nothing to me."

"Oh, sit down, Kripke," the Superintendent said, his voice finally booming in commend. "I knew that Lord Cooper arranged this job for you, but I had no idea you were so entangled with both the victim and one of the suspects. If I had, I would have replaced you in this investigation."

"What? What do you mean Cooper arranged this job for me?" Kripke's mouth hung open as he looked between the Superintendent, who suddenly looked like the ex-military man he probably was in that uniform, and Sheldon, who spread his palms out on his knees. "Is this true?"

Sheldon nodded. "It is."

Kripke sat back down on the sofa cushion with a muffled thud. "Why?"

"If I may?" Amy said.

Waving a hand of permission toward her, Sheldon said, "I expect you've ascertained this truth, as well, Miss Fowler."

"Lord Cooper was the graduate lab assistant, instructing you and grading you in your undergraduate class. Both you and Dr. Nowitzki. The student with the highest score would get a one-month summer internship at the Institut Curie, and you were battling for that honor. But she accused you of cheating - of copying her research on an experiment - by taking her case to Lord Cooper - Dr. Cooper he was - instead of the professor, didn't she?"

The Inspector replied, "Actually, I never knew it was her. I was just told there was proof I'd cheated."

"I see," Amy inclined her head toward him. A part of her did feel sorry for him, tried and found guilty without any way to face his accuser, any way to defend himself. Academia could be a very closed place. "Regardless, for years, you assumed that Lord Cooper agreed with your accuser. After all, he informed your professor who then informed the disciplinary committee."

"They told me the evidence was irrefutable, that the brilliant Sheldon Cooper himself had turned it over. He wasn't there, either, at the meeting, I wasn't even allowed to face him," Kripke said. "If I withdrew quietly I would not have an expulsion on my record. What choice did I have? But I didn't cheat. Irrefutable!"

Amy looked over at Sheldon. "Lord Cooper?"

He gulped and, after a heavy pause, explained, his voice hoarse, "I didn't agree nor disagree with Dr. - Miss she was then - Nowitzki. I didn't investigate her claims at all. I just passed them on to the professor. I hated teaching, it was awful. I hated dealing with whiny, demanding students. I just wanted to ignore her accusation, make it go away. I couldn't be bothered to worry about it. I was only concerned with finishing the class, getting the requirement on my record. Technically, I followed protocol exactly to the letter. But I did not fully realize -" Sheldon took a deep breath "- because I did not care - I did not take the time to contemplate that by turning it over to the professor I was giving my tacit concurrence to the claim." He paused, looking down at his hands, "Later, after I returned here, I understood the importance of taking time and care. I regretted my hasty actions. So when I discovered how reduced Kripke's circumstances had become, I intervened without his knowledge to secure him this post."

Turning back to the Inspector, suddenly a shrunken, aged man, Amy said, "It was at dinner that night, wasn't it? Dr. Nowitzki was talking about Oxford. What did she say?"

"She mentioned her work, her brilliant piece of work that snagged her the fellowship with the Institut Curie. But it was mine. She was so forgetful or so egotistical or both -" Kripke chuckled, a manic, broken laugh "- she quoted my research right back to me, claiming it as her own, there at the dinner table, in front of everyone."

The sound of air escaping a balloon filled the room, as everyone let out exhalations and exclamations and hisses of understanding.

Amy looked back at Sheldon. "And that's when you realized it, too. Dr. Nowitzki's stolen theory was the Inspector's idea, the one he'd told you about before?"

He nodded and put his head in his palms. "I never even read her complaint, I just passed it along. If I'd read it then, I could have changed everything."

"And that's why Inspector Kripke wanted to frame you?"

"He deserved it!" Kripke answered for him. "He's just as guilty as I am! It all happened because of him!"

Looking over at Sheldon, who had not raised his head, Amy said, "Yes, he is guilty of hubris and the consequences that followed. But not murder." She turned back to Kripke. "It was you who had the dagger. After dinner, when the idea formed, you took advantage of the dagger lying about."

Kripke shook his head. "I already had the dagger in my pocket. I'd picked it up earlier when Hofstadter put it down next to me. Just to mess with Cooper, really; maybe I'd find it later and solve a little theft or something. I asked her to meet me, I thought maybe we could talk. I just wanted her to say it, to admit it. It wasn't much of a plan. But, then, she did admit it, didn't even try to deny it, and it made me so angry. Said she didn't regret it. She told me it didn't matter anymore, that I couldn't do anything about it now."

"'You're nobody here,'" Amy repeated.

"She was right. I'm nobody here, in this God-forsaken little backwater village." He took a deep breath. "It was so easy. No, she didn't even scream."

No one uttered a single sound. The room was so silent Amy noticed, for the first time, the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Bernadette stood. "She agreed with a plan to kill thousands of people and you murdered her over a silly little science experiment?" Her formerly-sweet voice had found its deep Germanic vowels and her hands balled into fists.

"I was teaching that class and I assure you that none of my assignments were silly -"

"Sheldon, shut up!" Amy hissed at him and he clamped his mouth closed, his eyes looking at her shock. If she'd only known that's what it took to quiet him days ago.

"You have your motive, I have mine." Kripke shrugged.

The Superintendent pushed himself out of his chair. "Barry Kripke, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Dr. Ramona Nowitzki. Do I need to get out the cuffs?"

"No." Kripke stood and let his superior - former superior now, Amy supposed - take him by arm. They took a step together, toward the door, when Kripke stopped, right in front of Amy. "I should not have enlisted your services, that was my mistake."

"No, your mistake was underestimating my intelligence."

* * *

Everyone sat or stood quietly, drinking tea that had gone lukewarm and generally avoiding conversation or eye contact. Bernadette's anger had dissipated into a more complex emotion, and she sat, rigid and proud, but sniffing away sobs as Howard held her hand. Rajesh had gone to the window to watch the car pull away, the same action Amy presumed that Stuart was doing outside, and she wasn't surprised at their eagerness to see them go. Leonard and Penny seemed to carry on a private conversion, spoken between his eyebrows and her expressive mouth, and Amy wondered yet again how they ever kept their love a secret in Hollywood. Bert alternated between running his thumb over the picture of his daughter and watching the clock, obviously bidding his time.

But it was Sheldon who Amy watched with the most interest, and although he continued to take small sips of his tea, he mostly stared out in front of him, his face a pale mask.

The drawing door opened with Stuart's return and, after his simple pronouncement that the police had left, he asked, "Your Lordship, shall I postpone dinner?"

"Oh." Sheldon looked up at the clock. "No. It's still an hour away. But please, everyone - please come as you are. I don't feel like standing on ceremony tonight. Or don't come at all, if you don't feel like it. I'm not sure I do."

"Dr. Cooper," Bert raised his hand, as though he were a schoolboy, "may I use your telephone to make travel arrangements? I am most eager to return to -"

"To your daughter," Sheldon finished for him. "Yes, of course. Mr. Bloom will drive you to the station as soon as you need him to."

"Thank you." The large man scurried off, the fastest Amy had ever seen him move.

"I'm sorry," Penny said, her voice loud, "but is no one else curious?"

"Curious about what?" Howard asked.

"Amy! How did you do it? It was amazing, like a scene from a movie! I'd love to get a part that gripping."

"Well, actually, like a book," Leonard said. "There haven't been very many movies based on mystery novels yet."

"Strictly speaking," Sheldon added, "Mrs. Christie has published twenty novels to date and there have only been four English-language films based on her works. Although, there have been some Sherlock Holmes films." He recited the facts in a monotone, punctuated with a sip of tea.

"Sheldon, no one cares!" Penny leaned forward, "Come on, Amy, tell us how you did it. How did you find out all that stuff?"

"Here, here." Rajesh cheered. "But sit down, we'll all eat some biscuits, and you tell us."

Amy looked over at Sheldon. She didn't need his permission to speak, of course, but it was his house and she would have liked it. "Please, Miss Fowler, I, too, am curious. You have done something I think no one else has ever done, which is both surprise and shame me at the same time." He did not look at her.

Leonard teased with a mumble, "Goodness, Sheldon, enough with the flirting."

Sheldon did not react.

"But didn't you know what she was going to do? She had that whole bag of tricks over there." Penny pointed toward the drawer. "Your pin and everything."

"Not strictly speaking," Amy answered for him, returning her gaze to the actress - and scientist! - with a smile. "I asked Lord Cooper if I could speak when the Superintendent arrived and I asked to borrow two items - the pin and the reel player. But that was it. We made an . . . agreement of nondisclosure, shortly after I started helping the Inspect - Mr. Kripke, I guess he is now."

Rajesh jumped up to move an armchair near the fire for her, and Stuart brought her a fresh cup of tea. Amy sat down and took a long drink to soothe her parched throat before looking out at the eager-again faces. Only Sheldon did not look her way.

"When did you first suspect him?" Bernadette asked, having dried her tears.

"I don't know, really," Amy answered honestly. "I disliked him all along - even before the murder - but I thought it was just that. He was disheveled and had no sense of propriety. He was an opportunist, I saw that the very first night here. And, I think, in the end, that was it. The first thing I realized about the murder was it was a crime of opportunity also. Otherwise, why do it out in the open like that?" Amy took a sip. "I often thought ill of him or his tactics, especially how he seemed to draw an early conclusion and just wanted to trick others into confirming it for him, but I tried to brush it aside as mere dislike. But it was something you said, Penny, that day in your suite, that made me realize how connected everyone was. And then I reread Leonard's interview, and he kept saying 'you know.' Because Kripke already did know, didn't he? In fact, everybody involved already knew, of course, so they didn't see the need to discuss it or tell me. I guess that's when I _truly_ considered him a suspect."

"And Sheldon told you about Oxford?" Leonard asked.

"No, actually. I mean, a little bit, when I asked. But I have a friend who is a fellow reporter, we used to work together but he's in Oxford now. I called him for the details I needed to confirm my theories."

Howard asked, "Kripke was the Nazi then?"

Shaking her head, Amy replied, "I don't think so. I think he took the pin from the poacher just because it was an opportunity, as well, as a souvenir of sorts. Maybe he thought he could shock someone with it some day. But then, after he murdered Dr. Nowitzki, he needed to deflect attention. And it was obvious how she felt, so maybe he thought he could distract us all from the truth." Amy stopped and took a bite of a biscuit. Now that the correct murderer was under arrest, her appetite returned in force.

"Go on, go on," Penny encouraged. "Tell us everything. How did you know all our secrets? How did you get a copy of our patents so quickly?"

Amy smiled. "Ah, I didn't. Mr. Gibbs - that's my friend - called a friend of his for the information. But the paper I pretended to read your name from? It was blank."

"It seems Penny is not the only actress here," Howard said.

"But everyone else's secrets?" Rajesh asked.

"Some were more well-kept than others. M. Kibbler was the first because I don't think he was trying to hide it any more than he feels he has to in his daily life." Amy frowned into her tea and took a sip. "We found the photograph in Dr. Nowitzki's room with the French name on it and then we learned he accused her of stealing a memento from him. So I suspected that right away. Others confirmed it later with their details. And, of course, his constant worry about his family."

"Even I did not know his daughter is . . . different," Rajesh said. "And I've met with him in Paris more than once. But never at his home, now that I think about it."

"I thought you knew everything?" Leonard asked.

"Maybe I exaggerated."

Amy pulled the topic back by turning her body. "And you, Lord Cooper, you didn't so much have secrets as you just don't like to talk about things that don't interest you. You're self-absorbed in that way."

"Once again, you have perhaps found the perfect word, Miss Fowler," Sheldon said softly, looking down at his tea.

"You tried to make amends, yes?" Howard offered. "With the job."

"But not enough. I failed in that. But Miss Fowler is correct. I never hid anything from her; there were just things I never said." He looked over at her.

Amy nodded as she felt everyone's eyes upon her. "Indeed."

"Do me, do me!" Penny exclaimed. "You're the first person who ever found out my secret. And here I thought I was a good actress."

"You are," Amy conceded. "But you're too smart for your own good, sometimes. You would allow little things to slip and then you tried to cover them up by acting like a silly girl, all 'golly' and 'wow.' Not to mention you were missing the first day of the conference; I was told you were tired from singing but that didn't seem like you. And Leonard tried to tell me you like to sunbathe and read trashy magazines -"

"Well, that part _is_ true," Penny confessed.

"Yes, but it seemed too sedate for you to do all the time. Also, Leonard kept saying 'we' - 'we' have a meeting and things like that. Oh! And you said he fell running into your room that night, but he didn't mention it. And I found a scrap of your dressing gown on the portico."

"Men are useless!" Penny cried, nudging her husband with her elbow. "And Bernadette's right; I should have worn black on the balcony-thingie. I didn't think it through, it was a spur of the moment decision."

"Why was everyone crawling all over my house?" Sheldon asked. "It's dangerous. You could have fallen!"

"It wasn't that bad," Amy said. "I'll take you out later and show it to you."

Sheldon paled again, taking a drink of tea. "Oh, dear."

Tittering gently, Amy smiled.

"Leonard didn't have a secret?" Rajesh asked, then suddenly added, "I mean, I don't know of another one."

"Apparently he can't keep any," Penny said with another light-hearted dig at her husband.

Amy shrugged. "His secrets were the same as Penny's secrets, although perhaps she feels she has more to lose. But I do not doubt that he'd do anything for her, wouldn't you, Dr. Hofstadter?"

"Whaaat?" The whiney way he said it rang untrue. "Not murder, no."

"Please, you would eat five pounds of cheese if I asked you to," Penny said, and then turned to everyone else with a stage whisper, "Cheese and Leonard, it's not a good combination."

"I should not have told you I knew Dr. Nowitzki from Berlin," Bernadette said. "Perhaps you would not have discovered it."

Amy tilted her head. "I can't say what he discovered, but I do know Kripke was making phone calls to confirm the timing of some details. So I think he would have found out anyway. And I think you considered your options carefully, Dr. Rostenkowski. You wanted us to think the only thing you were hiding happened in Berlin so that we would ignore Warsaw."

"It is true. We fought in Berlin, that was true, but you are correct, it was backward. She did not steal a secret, I gave it to her to share. But she did not care, she did not see the problem."

"And then she saw your necklace?" Amy prompted. "You have a habit of touching your neck after you say something about the Jews, you see, even though it's covered. And it's _always_ covered. It was Rajesh's scar that made me think of it."

Both Bernadette and Rajesh's hands went up to their throats, two unconscious movements.

"It was foolish of me. I should have left it in Poland. But I cannot wear a ring; it is all I have of him."

Howard pulled her closer. "It is not all you have."

Bernadette smiled at him and then turned back. "So you see why I need to escape Germany. I am most impressed you determined I was married from just my neck."

"Actually, no," Amy explained. "There was a discrepancy in your stories. You claimed that you were mere acquaintances with Mr. Wolowitz, that you hardly knew each other, but he often mentioned you and your conversations. I thought perhaps you were together, but then I confronted him with the wrong assumption one afternoon to see how he would react. I thought he was overly concerned with _your_ reaction."

"You had one job!" Bernadette exploded at Howard, her voice gravelly again. "Just one!"

As Howard shrank away, Amy said, "Don't be too hard on him. It was you who first made me realize it. Why would you be so angry that I thought he was . . . entertaining another woman in his room? Or share with him my first, erroneous belief about who it could be? And then I realized it had been there all along. If you were mere acquaintances, why would you come to the library to help calm him after Dr. Nowitzki's insults? Why take his comfort on the stairs the night of the murder? It did not match with the woman who so blatantly sat as far away from him as possible at every opportunity."

"Look who has failed on the job now!" Howard quipped.

"Miss Fowler, how impressive," Sheldon said.

"Wait a minute," Penny interjected. "What about Rajesh? You haven't said anything about him."

Amy's stomach fell. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Rajesh uncross and then recross his legs. Once again, Stuart looked like he might faint in the back of the room.

"Yes," Howard leaned forward to look at his new friend, "is your secret just that you knew my secret? I did not tell you I was married."

"Perhaps I knew because I saw the love. The secret love," Rajesh said, his words slow and deliberate. "The love I could tell no one about."

The teacup rattled slightly in her hand, and Amy had to set it down.

"The dark secret of love?" Howard asked.

"Yes." The two men were staring at each other and Amy held her breath, wondering if anyone else noticed how Rajesh has gripped the arm of his chair again.

Howard nodded, a curt but certain thing. "Thank you, my friend, for carrying it to your grave. As I would for you."

Amy exhaled softly, closing her eyes.

"It's love, not a crime!" Penny exclaimed. "Dark secrets, phhhh!"

Rajesh stood, "Agreed! If it is not in poor taste, let us toast to the happiness of love and marriage."

Penny and Leonard looked at each other and shrugged, but then almost everyone followed Rajesh's lead in raising their teacups.

"Sheldon," Leonard said after the toast was complete, "no toast from you? Is it because you think marriage is silly?" Leonard looked toward the group. "He's always said all he needed was a brain to keep him company at night."

A chuckle came from Penny. Amy looked down at her hand and rotated her wrist, feeling her pulse there.

Just at that moment, before Sheldon could reply, Bert returned and informed everyone he was leaving on the afternoon train the next day. In his discussion with Sheldon about travel arrangements, everyone seemed to shift around the room. Stuart opened a bottle of champagne, and almost everyone went to get a glass. New pairings and groups of conversation broke out.

Penny approached Amy and sat on the settee closest to her, handing her a coupe of the sparkling beverage. "I've been considering your offer, to write an article about my marriage."

"Oh?" Amy looked up hopefully, taking the glass.

"I will do it," Penny said. "And my science, too, if you like. Someone has to stand up to the studios. And, if I get blacklisted out of the pictures," she shrugged, "I will continue my science with Leonard. Openly."

"Penny, I'm delighted." Amy took a drink with a smile. "The world needs to hear more about intelligent women. We need to support each other, stand up for each other."

"Yes." Penny bit her lip. "Listen, I'm sorry I didn't stand up for you."

Amy sat her glass on the table. "Stand up for me? When?"

"Letting you come to the conference. The actual conference, out in the lab."

"What do you mean? I wasn't welcome because then I would know your secret, that you were a scientist. Because I'm a journalist, you couldn't take that risk. You could have trusted me, but I understand you didn't know me yet."

Penny lowered her gaze. "Ah. There is one mystery you didn't solve. Leonard and I would have welcomed you; the nondisclosure agreement would have covered my attendance, just as it did for everyone else. It was Dr. Nowitzki who didn't want you at the conference. Sheldon had every intention of including you, you see. They fought about it. But she had him so far under her thumb, she was controlling him with all that flattery. . . It's when I realized how bad things had gotten and tried to put a stop to it."

Amy let out a long breath. "But why? Because I'm not a doctor? She alluded to it that first night, mocking my first at Oxford."

"Oh, sweetie," Penny put her hand out on Amy's arm. "Don't you see? Sheldon wanted to meet you. He times himself on your puzzles, he reads all your articles. There's something in the way you write . . . Ramona saw it, too. He's crazy about you."

"That's - that's not possible," Amy protested. "We'd never met. They're only words. Neither of use believe in love at first sight let alone - well, whatever that would be."

Before Penny could reply, Rajesh called for attention again. "Let's toast again, a proper one this time. We have neglected to toast the woman of the hour, the brilliant Miss Amy Farrah Fowler! She saw all our secrets, our true selves, and she handled it beautifully!"

"Here! Here!"

Everyone raised their glass and Amy blushed under the attention.

"Oh, come on, Sheldon," Leonard said. "Really? Marriage is one thing, but you can't even toast Miss Fowler? I know you don't drink, but you can at least cheer."

Amy looked over, realizing that while everyone else had been happily chatting and toasting, Sheldon had not moved from his chair, sitting alone in the room, his face still a distracted mask.

"She solved the great mystery of Medford Hall!" Penny added with a chuckle.

Sheldon stood. "Yes. Miss Fowler has learned all our darkest secrets. She has made us see ourselves for who we truly are. Even our sins. Please, give her the praise she deserves. And enjoy your moment, Miss Fowler. You have earned it. I, however, shall leave before my hubris harms anyone else."

He turned and left the drawing room, and Amy gasped as she felt everything in her chest being pulled out with him.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	20. Chapter 20

Between the heavy rain and the rapidly setting sun, the library was inky and dim. Not a single lamp was lit and the fireplace lay bare. The closing door echoed in the still space. Amy's feet shushed upon the thick rug. She looked around, considering she'd made the wrong decision when she left the drawing room to follow Sheldon. Perhaps he went to his bedroom for privacy.

But then she saw his profile in the shadows, sitting in one of the club chairs. His elbow rested on its arm, his index finger gently tapping his lips. Without words, she stepped close. He did not look up at her; instead, he was staring into the empty grate as though he could imagine a fire there. There was a large round ottoman in the center of the cluster of chairs, and Amy sat upon it, just in front of him, so that his knees almost touched her hips. And waited.

"Miss Fowler," he finally said.

"Lord Cooper," Amy replied, "I owe you an apology. Perhaps my word choice was -"

"Absolutely correct. I would expect no less from a wordsmith of your caliper. You have, indeed, struck to the very heart of the matter." His voice was calm, stern even, without a single hint of emotion. Just as dark as the room around him.

Amy looked down at her hands in her lap. "But I should not have said so, in front of everyone, so harshly. Perhaps I got carried away with all the attention."

"Why should my shame deserve any more privacy than another's?" Sheldon asked. "That, in and of itself, would be hubris, would it not?"

"Yes," Amy agreed softly. "Nevertheless, I apologize. And ask your forgiveness."

"My forgiveness?" Amy looked over at him, wondering if he'd ever display any emotion to her again. "It is I who needs your forgiveness. And yet I know I do not deserve it. I set this tragedy in motion with my conceit and self-absorption. If I had been as concerned about my students as I was about myself, I could have prevented everything. It has rightly come back to haunt me."

"Sheldon," Amy turned so that her knee pressed against his thigh, "it was years ago. You were young and inexperienced. You may have had the brain of a man then - a great man - but you still had the emotions of a boy. What were you? Twenty? Twenty-one?"

"An adult. Old enough to be a lord, although I was not yet one. Old enough to fight a war, if it were still being waged. Old enough to know I should be here, helping my mother, but I could not stomach the nightmares of my brother." Sheldon closed his eyes at the memory. "I was in a position of responsibility, but I was not responsible. I dismissed necessary duties just because I found them tiresome, and others were harmed by my choices." He paused. "It's why you thought I might be guilty of murder, isn't it?"

Amy nodded, although she wished it were not so. "I considered it. I knew that Kripke knew something - or thought he knew something - about you that made you guilty in his eyes. And I knew you weren't telling me everything. I suspected there was something in your past, and then when I learned you'd all been at Oxford together . . . My friend, Mr. Gibbs, he knows someone at your old college. He wrote with the details. And then I knew you weren't guilty of murder."

"But you were disappointed in me."

"Yes." She did not see the point in denying it. The wail in her room, when she'd read Dave's letter, was not just one of relief. It was one of dismay.

"As you should be," Sheldon said. "You see, then, why I have come here to be alone."

She knew he was asking her to leave. But, this once, she would not let him hide. "I still have questions and you have the answers."

Even in the dim, she saw the edges of his lips twitch. "Ever curious, Miss Fowler, no matter the circumstances."

"That is what science is, is it not? Question everything, test everything, search for answers."

"Indeed." A single nod, small but sharp. "Alright then."

"You wanted to meet me. You wanted me in the laboratory, but Dr. Nowitski did not. What was her hold over you? I mean, now. At Oxford, she flattered you to get her way, but you're a wiser man now. Penny may think flattery and naiveté were enough, but I do not. Why not stand your ground, in your own house, or just send Dr. Nowitski away?"

"She threatened to sell Penny's invention to the Germans; she was here when Penny showed it to us before everyone else arrived. Someone she met in Dr. Rostenkowski's lab, as a matter of fact. Such technology could change the outcome in a war."

Amy pondered this, things coming into focus. "She was blackmailing you, in a sense. But Penny didn't know."

"No. I did not wish to worry her or Leonard further, so I went along with it. But then, after the first day in the laboratory, I told her she had to leave first thing the next morning. I thought she was packing before dinner, but that must have been she stole the reel player."

"Penny used a real gramophone player in the drawing room," Amy supplied. "She would not have risked bringing the reel player downstairs. Someone might have seen it, noticed there was no needle." Sheldon nodded. "But Ramona played it that night, endlessly, to taunt you. And Leonard and Penny. To let you know you were too late, that she'd already stolen it."

"Yes."

"And this was the same night you realized it was she who stole from Kripke at Oxford, not the other way around? The same time he did, because of what she said at dinner?"

"Her paper, with the research she stole, never directly referenced Kripke's idea, the one he told me about. Even if it had, I may not have noticed. It was months before, and her topic was a different approach. Yes, they both dealt with fractal kinetics, but it was popular at the time. Yet something had bothered me about it for years, and I wished I'd studied their work more. It's why I decided to test for myself the theory Kripke told me. But, then, at dinner, Dr. Nowitzki explained her work differently, how she supposedly developed the theory in the first place. And the theory was Kripke's."

"Almost word for word?" Amy asked. "You'd remember that." She paused. "Kripke's paper was on something else altogether, because he'd disproven himself, as well?"

"I don't know. I never got to read his work. It was an assignment given at the start of term, to be completed and turned in by the end of term, but they were to work on it on their own time. I was not supervising their work. They could turn in their research whenever they thought it was complete. She turned hers in first, and then, almost immediately, accused him of stealing her work."

"That was her delusional fantasy, not just her romantic attraction to you."

"Yes."

"But, knowing all this, did you not suspect Kripke of the murder? Or at least realize he could not be an impartial investigator? Why did you not ask for some one else? Why did you not . . ." She let the last questions fall away. _Why did you not tell me? Why did you not trust me?_

"I did. I considered calling the Superintendent. More than once, my hand was on the telephone. But I had no proof he had killed her. If I accused him without proof again, wouldn't that have been the same thing I did at Oxford? I was wrong then; what if I were wrong again?" He paused. "I did not tell you because I needed you to remain impartial." Amy blinked; he had heard her thoughts. "I saw, almost immediately, that you were brilliant enough to find the truth."

"Oh." Amy frowned. His reasoning was logical, in its own way, but flawed. Just like the man himself.

Sheldon's voice quieted when he spoke again, "I wanted to tell you, to share it with you. So often, on our walks . . . in this room . . . But I did not consider how your success would shade me in your eyes, that I would lose your respect. The whole truth is ugly, as you have seen. I suppose I should be grateful you've shown me that about myself."

The room was almost completely dark now, and Amy could barely make out the man in front of her. But she felt the warmth of his leg against hers, an anchor in the cool melancholy of the room.

"Please, go back to your champagne and your success. You deserve it," Sheldon whispered. "I have nothing else to offer you. You have discovered the truth: I am a self-absorbed lord, sitting alone in his castle. Another excellent word choice on your part."

She reached out and grabbed for the armrest, gripping it tightly, wishing it were his hand. "Lord Sheldon Cooper, Earl of Medford, you were proud and self-absorbed and, yes, your inaction harmed some at the time. But that was years ago. You came back here and you changed. You saved an estate, you saved a village. You care for others, those who depend on you and those who love you. You tried to make things right with Kripke, in your own way. If you feel you need my forgiveness, you have it. You did the moment I saw the kind of man you've become. So, please, come with me. You do not need to be alone. Not anymore."

"I appreciate your faith in me, Miss Fowler. But I do not deserve it."

"Yes, you do. Sheldon, every single one of us in that drawing room cares for you. You are the one that brought us together. You respect all of our work. You shelter Mr. Bloom and everyone on the estate. You protect Dr. Koothrappali. You applaud Mr. Wolowitz. You trust Dr. Rostenkowski. Even M. Kibbler, you sympathize with him, because you knew, didn't you? And you love Penny and Dr. Hofstadter, enough to be blackmailed for them. We, in turn, all respect you."

"And you, Amy?" he whispered, and she heard him shift closer. "What about you?"

"You - you," Amy stammered as he was close enough now she could see the white of his eyes in the dark, the pale gray circular frames to his irides, "encourage me."

"Encourage you?" His fingertips grazed the edge of her sleeve, right where fabric met skin over her thumb.

"With Mr. Clayton. My work." His thumb pressed gently over her pulse and made a single small circle. Amy closed her eyes.

"Your work?" His hand snaked up the sleeve of her soft jumper, right over where he'd kissed her just a few hours ago, and Amy inhaled sharply.

"Yes. As colleagues."

"Ah." His hand fell away and he sat back.

Amy's eyes snapped open and she cursed her word choice. "As friends?" she offered instead. "We're friends, of a sort, aren't we? I mean - I mean, everyone here. I knew no one and they were all so kind and welcoming, even under the circumstances. They could have distrusted me, shunned me. And - and maybe I owe you that." Amy was tossing out anything now. "Because of your example." She tried one more time. "Please let us - all of us - be friends here. Come join us for dinner. You'll be missed."'

He did not reply for what felt like ages. Amy felt adrift, uncertain of what else to say, fearing she'd already said the wrong thing, wondering if her word choice, those precise words Sheldon admired, had doomed her.

"Friends?" he suddenly said, extending his hand, his pale skin catching the very last of the light.

Amy smiled sadly, recognizing it for what it was. The end of a negotiation. She took his hand and they shook. "Friends."

With the finality of a sealed agreement, they left the library in silence together.

* * *

Everyone slept in the next morning, it seemed, and, even at the late hour, Amy was alone in the breakfast room. Stuart brought her a new issue of _The Medford Gazette_ to read, and she inquired about the train to London.

Having failed to do so the previous evening, Amy went back to her room to write her article for _The_ _Herald._ Torn about the best course of action, she left out her role in the discovery of the murder. She had no quote from the Superintendent, either, so the piece was pitifully short, merely referencing that a source close to the investigation informed her that an arrest had been made. But it would have to do.

Afterward, she went to the library to call in her article and then, with only a few hours left, she looked for something short to read. But something caught her eye out the window and she stopped to watch. Bernadette and Howard were walking together in the morning chill, huddled arm-in-arm, their heads leaning toward each other in a lover's conversation. The sun glinted off the Star of David at her throat, obscured no more.

The sound of steps came from behind but Amy did not turn. Already, she knew the sure, long strides of his gait. He joined her at the window, and Amy cursed her heartbeat for speeding up simply due to his proximity. For a moment, neither of them spoke, but Amy doubted he could have missed what she was watching.

"I've decided what charitable cause I'd like my funds to go towards," Amy said.

"As invaluable as your work here has been, I am afraid it costs a great deal more to bring two scientists to England and establish their household. Even with the support of the Academic Assistance Council."

He had understood her. She looked over at Sheldon, her eyebrows lifted. "Two scientists? You're going to help them both?"

"How could I not? They are married. Legally, they are a single entity."

She felt like a fool for asking. "Of course. They need to be together. I was just surprised. Mr. Wolowitz lives in Poland."

"I cannot continue to believe that if I ignore the outside world long enough, it will pass without harm. Poland is too close to Germany, I fear. And," he turned toward her, "it is your wish. I knew it would be."

"Thank you." She recalled his exact words. "I suppose it's frightfully expensive. Will it -?"

"Bankrupt me? No." He shook his head. "But it may prove prudent to apply myself to the chemistry of synthetic rubber again for a few months."

"Is there anything I could do? Would publicity be helpful, maybe I could write about your tires?"

"Thank you, but no. I do not wish to advertise my involvement." He paused. "I don't see how I can get them visas at the same time. We are not the only ones to see the writing on the wall; it's my understanding the applications for visas have increased exponentially. We'll start with Dr. Rostenkowski as the Academic Assistance Council is only for Germans. Leonard and Penny have military connections. I thought perhaps they could arrange a meeting and we could leverage her knowledge of this Zyklon B for an expedited visa."

"Treason? Espionage? I'm surprised at you." Amy looked back out at the couple as they shrank into the distance. She started to ask if Bernadette would be willing to do such, but she already knew the answer.

Sheldon shrugged. "When so much is at stake . . . And Koothrappali knows the head of the chemistry at Cambridge. I am hopeful they would make room for a biochemist of her caliper. Then, once she's settled, we can work on Mr. Wolowitz's visa. His skills are not as in demand, so I am not certain how to proceed."

"Perhaps something with the RAF?" Amy suggested. "Designing aeroplanes? He's an aeronautical engineer with quite the imagination. My father had a desk job with the Royal Flying Corp during the War, I'm happy to ask him for a contact."

Sheldon smiled. "Excellent! Yes, that could work. Of course, their marriage will be helpful. And, as you've pointed out, it's time I used the weight of my position."

"It sounds like you have it all planned out."

"No, I wanted your thoughts first. And then, I was thinking that at tea, after M. Kibbler leaves, since everyone is involved and there are no secrets here anymore, we could all work together on the plan."

Amy could see the scene in her mind: the drawing room transformed into a situation room, the coffee table littered with papers, everyone balancing their plates on their laps, maybe even Sheldon would bring in one of the wheeled chalkboards from his laboratory and they would all gather in a circle, giving suggestions as he mapped out their ideas. It sounded lovely, a group of like-minded scientists working together for a common goal.

Colleagues. Friends.

She swallowed away her regret and turned back to the window. Bernadette and Howard had disappeared from view. "I'm happy to help in any way I can, but I won't be here."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm leaving on the same train to London as M. Kibbler. I've already informed Mr. Bloom that I'll need a lift after lunch."

"You can't leave. We have so much to do."

She looked back up at Sheldon, his brows dipped in confusion. "I have to go home. I have to go back to work. I do not live as you do; I must earn my pay packet."

"Today is Friday. Stay the weekend. Return on Monday. Or Sunday, at least. You deserve a rest for all your hard work."

Sheldon didn't continue. Not abruptly, as though he had stopped himself, but as though he had said all he wanted to. Amy willed him to continue. Nothing, not a single word, had been exchanged privately between them since their conversation in the library the previous evening. And certainly nothing with the gravity of the kiss in his room.

Friends. It was the word she had offered, but she wondered if the kiss was a kiss of a friend. Or was it merely the kiss of a frightened man? Just a man who feared he would be going to jail for a crime he did not commit? Yes, it was somewhere she'd never been kissed before but surely that was a coincidence. For it was plaintive, not the passionate kiss of someone who only wanted to kiss her for the rest of his life. Amy wanted to ask him about his feelings, but she had discovered feelings did not reside easily within him. For him to decide he must help Bernadette and Howard because he felt the social injustice of their current and future lives was perhaps already too much for him. Perhaps he could not see their bond as anything other than a necessary legal adjustment to his plans. He could not see they were lovers because he could not see himself as one.

Sheldon did not wish for her to stay for any reason other than a reward for her ideas. And as a token of friendship. All Amy wanted for years was for someone to see her intelligence and reward her for it; the irony of her disappointment was not lost upon her. Would staying lead to anything other than that? She found a friend and colleague in him, yes, but would he ever utter a single word of something more?

"Please."

Amy closed her eyes. It both was and was not the word she wanted. It could mean anything. But a part of her reached out, touching it, hoping.

"Yes."

A grin broke upon his face, and, unsure if she imagined it, Amy thought he pulled away, as though he has leaned closer to her without her notice. "Excellent! I was thinking that tomorrow, we could all convene in the laboratory to pick back up what was interrupted. And you, you must come. That's everything you wanted, right? Time in my laboratory with all of us? As colleagues?"

Her smile back was conflicted, but he did not seem to notice in his excitement. "Of course. Everything I wanted."

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_ **


	21. Chapter 21

After lunch and after saying good-bye to the departing Bert, Amy turned down an afternoon of bridge to return to her room. If she were going to stay, she needed to work on her crossword puzzles.

But once she was in her room, she made little headway. It was not that she could not think of clues, but rather that she had to discount so many. Her various conversations with Sheldon were twirling in her head: Schroedering's cat, penicillin, science fiction, synthetic rubber, Prince Edward, even the grades of soap. Delightful to her, but all too erudite or obscure for simple puzzles for the masses. Mr. Clayton would not approve. However, every topic was something she enjoyed, and she liked to think there was some reader out there intelligent enough that the challenge to decipher it would have been welcome. Finally, as she was unable to concentrate on her actual work, Amy started the puzzle anyway, just for herself.

It wasn't the same as the pseudo-puzzle she'd created to help her solve the murder. Organizing these topics were unlikely to reveal Sheldon's true intentions. Rather, she knew that sometimes she just had to get something down on paper for it to stop plaguing her thoughts. And her heart, she thought with a sigh. If she could get these details, these unemotional snippets of conversations, cleared from her mind, perhaps the emotions would clear out with them. Perhaps the ache in her chest would stop.

Amy claimed to Penny she would only allow herself to consider a love without reservations. And yet, here she was, pinning for a man who made her full of them. Sharpening the painful edges of her yearning was regret. Amy cursed herself for her response to him in the library the evening before. Colleagues? Friends? Why had she said that? She could call it a hiccup, momentary confusion and confliction about what she wanted after the tense and heady events that proceeded it. And she had been trying to comfort Sheldon, to explain to him why his guilt, while not misplaced, did not need to be so acute anymore. How could she in good faith long for something she implied she did not want? His behavior this morning, his offer of staying and planning together, was very kind. The very kind offer of a friend who respected her wishes and boundaries. And she was grateful for that.

Of course, Amy knew she could have everything wrong. For all her reading, she'd never been in a relationship before and certainly not with a privileged man used to getting his way. Maybe he was not truly interested in her. Maybe her first instinct this weekend was correct: she was a temporary enjoyment and distraction for a lonely man. Despite the kisses, despite the song, despite everything, he wanted her only as a colleague, or maybe, a friend from afar. After all, wealthy and titled men did not pluck their brides from the pools of working-class spinsters dotting London. She knew nothing of his world. Yes, they had all these things in common, every single clue she wrote and arranged in front of her, but only to an extent. He was a doctor twice over, a genius, and she wasn't even using her first in biology. They were too different.

A part of her wondered if she should just tell him: go down to the library, take another walk, admit her mistake, and declare her feelings. And yet she knew she could not withstand the rejection that would surely follow. He would recite the very words she suggested to him, the very connection she'd led him to believe she most craved. Why did she ever believe it could be more? Not only had he made it clear he would not marry, but there was also no hope that he would consider marrying her. What a fool she'd been.

The puzzle came together, each topic and conversation fitting perfectly with the one that followed. It was complex, yes, Amy making the clues as difficult as she could, but she embraced the struggle as something that could be solved and overcome. But when it was completed, the ache remained. She shook out her wrists, tense from gripping her pencil so tight, and the action only reminded her of the kiss.

Determined to put the puzzle and all it contained aside, Amy wiped her damp eyes and sealed it up in an envelope. Maybe someday she'd open it again. But, for now, it was finished, a completed task, a burden laid to rest.

She took up a clean sheet of graph paper and worked diligently on another puzzle, to finish it so she could have Stuart put it in the afternoon post. This one contained only the banality of autumn, the predictable clues about the dying of leaves and the shortening of days.

* * *

Once again, Amy stood in her brown traveling suit in the grand entrance hall of Medford Hall, studying its black and white marble tiles, plush rugs, gleaming crystal chandeliers, and sweeping staircase. Now she knew it as far more than an artery in the middle of this house, a place where everyone gathered and came and went. It was also a place of stolen kisses, passionate arguments, and, Amy shivered, a murder.

She passed her valise over to Stuart with a smile and put on her hat. Back to London, back to reality. Sheldon had been correct, she'd needed the time off to unwind. She had worked on crossword puzzles, but otherwise, her time was spent reading or in conversation with fellow scientists. Saturday in the laboratory had been stimulating and evenings had been relaxing. It had been an enjoyable weekend, even if she felt something lacking. But only when she allowed herself to. She remembered the intellectual commune she had thought Rajesh described, and, now that she had experienced it, it was only more bittersweet for leaving.

The hall was empty but she did not mind. It was not good-bye for most of her new friends. They would all be in London the following week for the various meetings, mostly to help Bernadette obtain her visa. Over a long-delayed brunch in Penny's suite just this morning, the ladies planned their day out in London. Penny modeled her black, curly wig, and perhaps it was the mimosa, but Amy laughed just as hard as they did.

So she would see them all again. All except Sheldon. He would pull his weight as he always had, from the shadows, buried here, alone in his ancestral estate. Haunted, perhaps, by his brother or his title . . . or his actions at Oxford. Immersed in his work and regret. Even today, after she'd done so much here for him, he had not come to show her to the door, as polite society would expect. Their friendship, it seemed, would not live beyond these grand walls.

Amy sighed, tugging on her gloves. It was for the best. They had been thrown together by the mystery, but, once that was solved, there had been no more private conversations, no more walks. All weekend, Sheldon treated her with the same equal attention that he gave to everyone else. Now, she could not bear to utter a polite if sincere appreciation for his hospitality and a deferential if genuine appreciation for his role in helping Howard and Bernadette. She could not bear to hear the authentic but staid appreciation of her deduction skills.

"Miss Fowler?" Amy jumped at the sound of the door behind her. "The car is ready."

"Thank you." Amy turned to follow Stuart, holding her mouth in a firm line for fear of her lips trembling. She gripped the handle of her handbag and refused to look back. It was over and done. She'd placed all her clues on the page, the theme of her very heart, and it had proven too great - or too uninteresting - of a mystery. She stepped forward, the toe of her sensible oxford touching the threshold.

"Thirty-one minutes, forty-three seconds."

His voice echoed across the hall. Amy pressed a hand to her chest as she turned, everything within her being pulled toward him. He stood just outside the library door, holding the morning issue of _The Herald_ up high, above his head _._

"It's your best one yet," he said, walking toward her.

"I think they only printed it because it's all I sent them. Mr. Clayton will not be pleased. They had to reprint an old one yesterday."

"I noticed." Sheldon's eyes took in her outfit. "You're leaving without saying good-bye?"

Amy searched his face for any sign of recognition, if he'd noticed more in the witty clues of her best puzzle yet. If he recognized her as more than just the cruciverbalist. If he recognized a sudden decision, one envelope hastily switched with another and posted with the hot, aching flame of hope. But there was no light in his eyes. She looked down to rearrange her glove. "I breakfasted with Penny and Bernadette. I did wish to disturb you. But thank you for your hospitality."

"I see. I hope we can remain in contact, that we will write."

She looked up at him. "Write?"

"Yes. Letters. I wish to continue our conversations, but focus on our mutual interests. Why clutter them up with the trivialities of others? We can discuss the Royal Society meetings you cover; you can send me your unedited pieces for review. I can share with you the outcomes of my experiments."

"Colleagues," Amy murmured.

"If you like." Sheldon swallowed. "There's something else. Something I want to ask you - to propose to you."

Her suddenly mouth dry, Amy just nodded.

"Now that you've accepted my help, more than once, perhaps you will let me help you further your education and pay your tuition."

"Oh." Amy shook her head, smothering the last dying ember in her chest. "No, thank you. I must make my own way in the world."

Sheldon sighed. "Why do you insist on fighting every battle alone?"

"Because I am not you or your class." Amy waved her hand around the beautifully ornate hall. "I've never wanted all of this."

"Neither did I."

"I don't want your money."

"You've made that abundantly clear."

"We're not even colleagues, not truly. You have two doctorates and I have only a dream."

"A dream I can give you. Study at Cambridge, use my laboratory."

"Cambridge doesn't confer degrees to women; it's why I studied at Oxford. And I cannot come alone to your estate; it would ruin my reputation."

"I don't care about that type of reputation."

"And that is a luxury of your place in this world, but not mine." Amy shook her head again, trying to convince him. Trying to convince herself.

A cloud passed over his face. "It's because of my behavior at Oxford," he said softly. "No matter what you say, I have lost your respect."

"No. No," Amy insisted. "Everything I told you is true. You have made amends for your decisions as a young man, and I accept them." She swallowed; the conversation had already devolved into the one she had been dreading. It was best that she stated her position clearly and left quickly. "I must go, Lord Cooper -"

"Sheldon."

" _Lord Cooper_. I do respect you, but this is not my life. I am grateful for this time in your house and your support of my work, but I do not wish to be beholden to you for my career or my degree. I wish you could see that about me. I am poor and maybe you're correct, maybe I am too proud, but I am strong and I am smart and I will find a way to forge my own path."

"I do see you. Every day, I saw you." He stepped closer, filling her space with the scent of his soap and the stretch of his jersey shirts. "Amy, I don't want to be colleagues or friends. I tried it this weekend, for you, and it is not enough. I want to walk along your path with you, as partners . . . for as long you will allow me. I knew it for certain that day, sitting in the garden."

"Don't," she whispered.

He held up the newspaper. "Then why this? The answers were in every conversation we ever had. You knew I would solve it this morning. The person who wrote this puzzle is not a person who wishes to be a mere friend." She saw it then in his eyes, the bright blue burning.

She closed her eyes as she turned her face away. "It was foolish."

"Amy." She felt him touch her hand, his warmth seeping through her gloves. She looked down just as his thumb found the skin above her wrist. "You asked if a person could distill everything about themselves into something you could love. Let me try. Let me prove to you that I am not just an earl with a grand estate. Yes, it's a part of me, something I cannot rid myself of, even for you, but it is not all of me. Let me write to you and prove it. I'm asking _you_ to see _me,_ not what others say lies between us."

"I - I don't know."

"I know words are important to you. As they are to me. So I will not say, not yet, that I love you. And I'm not asking you to love me, not yet. But I am asking that we both try."

She pulled her hand back to cover her mouth, trying to smother the sob that escaped.

"I do not wish to remain silent any longer, Amy. I do not wish to make another mistake by keeping to myself. I do not wish for there to be more lies of omission. I do not wish to be alone, not when I can share my world with you. Let me send you my thoughts, my ideas, my - my desires. You do not have to reply. Or you can leave your answers in your puzzles." His eyes burned as bright as they had over the dinner table, at the piano, and in the laboratory, and in them Amy saw his passion: for science, for understanding, for companionship. For her. "Please."

She felt like something hit her chest with that word, and she knew it was her hope, that thing she felt stretching and pulling from her every single time he left the room. It had all come rushing back to her, amplified by his.

"Oh, Sheldon, I already did. In every single square."

Then he was there, taking her by the shoulders, pulling her close. His lips pressed to hers, and Amy's heart caught in her throat. His kiss was warm and soft but urgent. His lips seemed to perfectly form to hers, as though they were destined to match. The newspaper crinkled against her jacket.

"Thank God! Finally!" called Penny's voice followed by both a high whistle and the sound of applause.

Amy pulled away and Sheldon lowered his hands to her waist, but he did not release her. Together, they turned their faces to see their group of friends huddled and falling out of the drawing room door, watching them with grins. Amy chuckled and then looked back at Sheldon's alarmed expression with a small shrug. His response was to toss the newspaper aside and gather her back into his arms.

This time the embrace was even tighter, his arms encircling her waist as though he was afraid to let her go. Amy let her handbag drop and she ran her palms against the firmness of his chest before sweeping them along the broad stretch of his shoulders and then up the sides of his neck and into the edge of his hair, which was as smooth as fine satin. At first, this kiss was gentle, almost timid, as they found themselves entwined in the newness of their joy and perhaps fearful of losing it. But Amy knew she would not let that happen, and she stood on her toes to press closer, allowing the tip of her tongue to run along his lips. A low growl came from deep inside Sheldon, and it rumbled through her, too, making every sensation stand on end.

Wind swept in through the still-open door, and Sheldon captured her bottom lip between his, tugging and sucking softly, and Amy whimpered with want as her fingers curled into his hair. Suddenly, he tipped her back. Surprise sounded in her throat as she kicked out a leg, but it was a welcome relief as she did not think her buckling knees could hold her upright any longer. And he would not let her fall. Sheldon caught her lips again and opened his mouth to hers, holding her steady as their tongues met and quivered. He tasted clean and hot at the same time, two words that she never before knew had a taste. Amy melted into the warmth of his embrace, the lean and solid presence of him. She felt safe and protected and fearless. Just when she thought she must breathe, Sheldon moved to press a few tiny kisses upon her cheek before returning, nibbling upon her lip and then finding his way back to her again. She kissed him with an ardor she had never found in a mere book. As she held onto him, so handsome and strong, his palm slipped beneath her jacket to press against her back. Through her thin striped blouse, she could feel that same river of heat, running between his palm and her lips but also pooling much further down. Then his other hand gripped her bottom and Amy moaned in response, shocked and thrilled by the impropriety in equal measure. Blood roared in her ears, drowning out everything but this moment. Her heart pounded as their mouths found a rhythm similar to the one they'd found during that first surprise kiss, but a richer, fuller, truer one, not of deceit or confusion but rather of genuine harmony.

She would not break the kiss to tell him she loved him, not yet. Not just because she was enjoying it so much. Words were important and love suddenly seemed, in the bliss of his embrace, woefully inadequate. How could she ask four tiny letters to contain something this infinite?

Because there, in the breeze, in the doorway, in his arms at last, Amy could see him - she could see _them_ \- and it was a different future than she'd ever allowed herself to hope for, but it was no less promising. She could see the notions they would challenge, the discoveries they would make, the life they would build. Together.

As Sheldon continued to kiss her, both supporting her and cherishing her, Amy's hat fell off, landing on the threshold of her new life.

**THE END**

* * *

**_'Tis sad but true: Cambridge University did not confer degrees to women until 1948. In contrast, Oxford University began granting women degrees in 1920._ **

**_This novel would not have been possible without_ ** **_the tireless hard work of my dear friend and editor (words are important, and beta feels woefully inadequate), Melissa. From the very beginning, when I sent her a completely-nonsensical-grammatically-incoherent-typo-ridden-_ ** **_brain-storm_ ** **_email in the middle of our COVID-19 shelter-in-place period almost a year ago (!) to just this week when I send yet another rewrite of the above kiss to her, asking her "But is it enough?," she has been a bastion of strength, generosity, historical knowledge, Anglophilia, grammatical fortitude, and impeccable taste. Not to mention just a generally funny and wonderful person, no matter what we're discussing._ **

**_And thank you to all of you, my dear readers, for your very thoughtful and kind reviews. I'm so very touched that you cared so deeply for this story and all the mental energy you extended to both the mystery and the romance._ **

**_If you have followed me for a while now, you know I do "Q &A sessions" after I complete a novel-length work, and this story is no exception. If you'd like to watch it, you can find it in the Instagram TV section of my Instagram profile [handle: aprilinparisfanfic]._ **


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